


Thank You, Next

by camerasparring



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alternate Universe - Everyone Fucks, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awkward Sexual Situations, BUT LIGHT, Barebacking, Between Bev/Ben and Eddie/Richie eventually, Blow Jobs, Bottom Eddie Kaspbrak, Bottom Richie Tozier, Bottoming from the Top, Choking, Cockwarming, Come Eating, Crying During Sex, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Double Headed Dildo, Double Penetration, F/M, Felching, Fix-It, Fluff and Smut, Group Sex, Light Humiiation, M/M, Multi, Orgy, Pillow Princess Bill Denbrough, Polyamory, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Eddie Kaspbrak, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Premature Ejaculation, Public Sex, Reddie Endgame but like truly this time, Richie Tozier Has a Big Dick, Rimming, Sex Between Friends, Slow Burn, Smut, Spanking, Spit Kink, Spitroasting, Threesome - F/M/M, Top Eddie Kaspbrak, Top Richie Tozier, alcohol use, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:28:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 56,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24409570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/camerasparring/pseuds/camerasparring
Summary: Richie Tozier, at the ripe old age of forty, is not used to having friends.At least, he wasn’t.He used to know these people like the back of his hand, but adulthood has changed them. He recognizes their mannerisms and their memories, flooding back now with abandon, but not who they’ve become. Richie’s sure he’s changed, too; in fact, he knows he has. None of these people know what kind of life he’s led, and he feels like he’s got about a million years of stories worth catching up on for them, too.But he’s never been more willing to try.--Or: Richie fucks everyone. Eddie gets mad.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh/Richie Tozier, Ben Hanscom/Richie Tozier, Bill Denbrough/Eddie Kaspbrak, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon/Ben Hanscom/Eddie Kaspbrak/Beverly Marsh/Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris, Bill Denbrough/Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris, Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris
Comments: 235
Kudos: 405





	1. Stanley Uris and The Great Duck Hunt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [omniocularz (adaptation)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adaptation/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is a labor of intense love and horniness, and it all started with an Andie. She had the idea for a fic wherein Eddie finds out Richie has fucked all of the Losers but him and is furious. I took it and ran, like, far too far with it. I LOVE YOU ANDIE.
> 
> PLEASE pay attention to the tags, and I will write the chapter-specific tags in each of my beginning notes, just FYI. I have most of it finished (aka 43k) but still a bit to write, so it should be updated rather regularly. 
> 
> If you have issues with multi-shipping or poly sex, this fic is not for you. Please close out now. 
> 
> Tags for chapter: alcohol use, premature ejaculation, blow jobs, anal fingering, come eating, Stan/Richie, Stan/Richie/Patty (foreshadowing), Stan/Patty, some Dirty Talk because I am me and Lots and Lots of Feelings
> 
> Enjoy!

Richie Tozier, at the ripe old age of forty, is not used to having friends.

At least, he wasn’t. 

But after the second-most (first-most? It’s hard to say) harrowing experience of his life, he finds himself surrounded by them. 

Eddie doesn’t wake up for almost two days after the house on Neibolt falls. The doctors say it’s something akin to a miracle. Richie estimates it’s closer to being dropped from a skyscraper and caught just as the ground is in sight. But Eddie’s eyes are tired yet shiny when he finally opens them, stares at Richie, and says, “of course you’re the first thing I see,” before passing out for another twelve hours. 

It’s the happiest Richie can ever remember being. 

Eddie’s hospital room is always chock full of people during visitor’s hours. Once Eddie is fully conscious, he constantly looks put out, frustrated with his healing, his wounds, his lack of independence, the way Richie refuses to let him go to the bathroom without standing outside the door, even though the nurse is there, but Richie sees that light in his eyes return whenever all their friends are gathered around. 

Richie feels it, too. 

On a gloomy Tuesday in September, he collects their numbers, creates a group chat, and snaps a picture of each of them for posterity, and so he can see their shining faces as much as he wants. 

Eddie changes his contact name back from “Eddie Spaghetti” the first chance he gets. 

Richie lets him. 

He can always change it back. 

He used to know these people like the back of his hand, but adulthood has changed them. He recognizes their mannerisms and their memories, flooding back now with abandon, but not who they’ve become. Richie’s sure he’s changed, too; in fact, he knows he has. None of these people know what kind of life he’s led, and he feels like he’s got about a million years of stories worth catching up on for them, too. 

But he’s never been more willing to try. 

* * *

One of the first thing Richie learns, or perhaps, remembers, is that Stanley Uris has a mean stare. 

As a kid, its concerted use on one Richie Tozier was neither effective nor persuasive. There was very little that changed Richie’s behavior as a child - no amount of Uris glaring could get in the way of an unstoppable force, and Eddie Kaspbrak was the only thing close enough to an immovable object. But Richie _noticed_. It was right there. Hanging over his every move, his every bad decision, his every unfortunate (amazing) joke and attempt at a high-five. Stan kept Richie in his sights, and that, in itself, was comforting. 

But as an adult, Richie finds Stanley’s stare has shifted to half-comforting and half-confounding. 

In the hospital, its uses are severe yet concerned: You should eat, Richie. You should shower, Richie. You should change your clothes, Richie, you’re still covered in blood. 

After Eddie finally wakes with a rapidly healing wound through the center of him, it remains a lot of the same, but with some new peppered in highlights: You should meet Patty, Richie. You should call your agent, Richie. You should talk to Eddie, Richie, and not just to barb him for marrying a version of his mother and forgetting to call her until I reminded him, too. 

Big ol’ no on that last one, thank you very much. 

But this isn’t about Eddie. Not right now. Right now, Richie’s focusing on the confounding stares. 

They start when Patty, who Richie is endlessly grateful for, invites him back to Atlanta to stay after Eddie starts spinning plans about returning to New York. See, Stan has a _stare_ , but Patty has a _look_. Richie, completely unfamiliar with Patricia Blum-Uris and her wily ways, assumes the look means something significant each time it flames toward him. It sticks. And Richie loves getting stuck. 

Patty is all hard and soft, blunt words cloaked in kind assurances, and a blue streak of talk when she has any bit of alcohol in her system. Richie is absolutely smitten as soon as Stan shoves her his way, because as per usual, Stanley knows what’s best for him, even if Richie doesn’t listen. 

Again, though: not right now. 

Richie could go back to Chicago and finish his tour, he could check on his big, empty house in Beverly Hills, he could stay with his sister in Nebraska (dear god, help him), but the thought of being without his friends after spending two months settling into post-Derry life at the side of a hospital bed, then bickering through Eddie’s inpatient physical therapy and watching everyone else slowly leave seems… wrong. Richie doesn’t just accept Patty’s invitation - he practically dive bombs into their rental car and whistles the whole way there. 

He tries to ignore the way Eddie hugs him when they finally leave, or the way Eddie watches him as they pull out, or the way Eddie sends him a _fuck you, have a good time_ text as soon as they’ve turned the corner. He wants to spend time with his friends, and Eddie is off to the Big Apple to deal with his marital nightmare and ensuing reinsertion into normal, adult, risk analyst life. Richie has slightly accepted that, even if it’s still digesting. Bubbling acidic and climbing up into his throat if he doesn’t keep his mind off it. 

And Richie would be floating along just fine on the hospitality of his oldest coupled with his new-foundest friends, if not for the stares. Because now they’re everywhere. No holding pattern. No familiar recognition from their past. 

After two weeks of settling into one of the Uris’ many guest rooms, Richie is honest-to-god puzzled. 

Maybe he’s not used to the Atlanta heat - although he’s spent most of his adult years in Los Angeles, and he’s taken to wandering around the neighborhood and lively downtown area just to get out of his own head. Maybe he’s not used to having people around - although every time he wakes to a sleepy Stan sipping coffee and an alert Patty munching oatmeal at the kitchen table his heart flips over in his chest. Maybe he’s delirious from the life change, the absolute overhauling of his career - although coming out on Twitter and getting a new agent fills him with nothing but a sense of _correctness_ he’s never experienced. 

He tries ignoring the staring, just like he ignored Eddie - but it’s always there when he least expects it. In the morning, when he emerges, stretches, and sees Stan’s eyes follow the lifted hem of his shirt. In the afternoon, when he throws his bare feet up on the coffee table and Stan says _nothing_ , but still watches his ankles shift together. At night, when he laughs at every single joke Patty cracks, and Stan flushes deep and stares with wide, suffering eyes as Richie and Patty cling at each other’s arms to keep from sinking to the floor in hysterics. 

Luckily, Patty stays up until midnight, and Stan goes to bed by nine. Even after getting back home, even after agreeing to take another week off work, he still goes to bed by _nine in the fucking evening_. Richie isn’t even properly drunk by nine. So he picks Patty’s brain. 

“Patricia,” Richie starts, leaning toward her, over the marble-fucking-countertops.

“Richard,” Patty counters back, sloshing some strawberry margarita over the top of her fancy glasses, then waving it off in a way that makes Richie’s heart beat a little prouder. 

“Why is your husband watching me like a curly-headed, number-crunching hawk?” 

They squint eyes at each other, heads lowering slowly, like they’re falling into quicksand. They’re only one pitcher in and Richie’s already feeling it. Patty makes ‘em strong, and Richie drinks ‘em fast. They’re a match made in hangover heaven. 

After a few minutes of increased squinting, Patty drapes herself over the marble in a sigh. 

“That’s complicated,” she says. It’s through her teeth, gritted out with granules of sugary, syrupy, frozen goodness. 

“Is it?”

Patty nods. “It is.” 

“Are you gonna give me anymore than that, or am I supposed to intuit here?” 

Her head thunks loudly, and for a second, Richie’s worried she’s passed out. But Patty can hold her tequila like nobody’s business, he’s seen her rocket through two of her very own pitchers and come out the other side frying eggs and brewing lattes, so that’s out. 

“We’ve been doing a lot of talking,” she says slowly, her face suddenly bursting as pink as the artificial flavoring, “you know. Since the whole-” she flicks her fingers through the air.

“Clown fuckery.”

She points. “Exactly.” 

“You’ve been _talking_ ,” Richie says. He shovels another glob of drink into his mouth and crunches it down until it stings his fillings. 

“We’ve been, uh, yes, we’ve been _talking_ ,” she parrots, her eyebrows flinging up to her soft and fruitful hairline. Richie wants to be jealous, but it’s Patty. She’s like a butterfly in the body of a second grade teacher. A beautiful, patient butterfly who deserves all the hair in the world. Alright, here comes the tequila. 

“I think you’re gonna need to talk to Stan,” Patty finally says, after another full minute of huffing and puffing through her hesitation. She reaches toward the pitcher and spills half of what’s left in Richie’s glass. 

“Noted,” Richie says, then, because he feels bad for pushing, which is foreign, but it’s _Patty_ , “Sorry for pushing.” 

“You’re not,” Patty says, without missing a beat. “I just want him-”

She stops. Richie’s fingers slip around the condensation of the thin rimmed glass, waiting. 

“I want him to have everything he wants.” 

Richie nods. Though he’s not really sure what that means. 

He finds out what it means the next night when Patty has book club.

Stan does not let Richie make fun of Patty’s book club, but she does _heavily imply_ they are reading some sort of smutty romance novel as she’s on her way out the door, so he tucks that into his pocket for their next margarita night. 

After debating the competitiveness of a Mario Kart play-through, Stan and Richie decide on a browse-through of Stan’s old records instead. Richie coveted the faded colors of the stacked albums in Rabbi Uris’ study when he was a kid, so he flips through them in Stan’s office with a dazy reverence as Stan rattles off facts behind him. 

“My mom was really more of a collector,” Stan says, leaning a hand on Richie’s shoulder and pointing out a bubbling picture of four, shiny-faced men on one sleeve.

“The Turtles, holy shit, I fucking remember these!” Richie says, popping his knees unpleasantly as he rockets to the record player. Stan lets him handle it with a watchful eye, without even a cursory “be careful!”, and that’s what finally breaks Richie’s resolve. 

“Alright, the buck stops here,” he says, hands pressed into his hips.

It’s not exactly how he means it to come out, but it’s stopped Stan frozen in his tracks, so Richie figures he got the job done. 

“What?” Stan asks. 

Okay, Plan B. 

“You’re staring at me. You’re acting weird, Patty is acting weird, everyone is acting weird, and I think when there’s only three people that means two people acting weird is officially a coup.” 

The record player has taken over, spinning some very chill vibes from the mid-60’s that Mrs. Uris used to twirl around to in the kitchen while she made them dinner, so Richie plops down onto the faux-leather couch. The kind he assumed only douches purchased, but who is Richie Tozier to say about what constitutes a douche. He’s made some very good money from said douches. 

Stan squares his shoulders. He adjusts his glasses. He’s cute. 

Fuck, he’s kind of cute. 

And that’s when it hits Richie, right in the middle of Stan’s awkward saunter over to the couch, just as their thighs press together: Stan was his first crush. 

He’s been so wrapped up in his chest-crushing, soul-lighting, one-sided love for Eddie that the memories of his blossoming sexuality almost completely escaped him. Well, except for some choice moments. 

The crush found him at age ten, when Stan got a Snoopy Valentine from Linda Lopez and looked smitten. Richie spent the rest of art period scribbling on some red construction paper with black crayon, but never worked up the courage to give it to Stan, so he binned it. The crush stayed for another few years, until it was replaced by meandering feelings for Bill, and then, finally, and probably permanently, for Eddie. Some tendrils of those soft, strong Stan emotions stayed, but since Derry, since _Eddie_ , Richie always chalked it up to friendship.

Until now. 

Stan’s eyes glow in the deep, gentle lighting of the bedroom. Richie leans over to slot their thighs further together, because it’s comfortable. Because it’s natural and he doesn’t want to shy away from touching anyone anymore. Especially not his friends. Especially not Stan. 

“I’m not acting weird,” Stan finally says, eyes on the ground. Richie has half a mind to push a thumb under Stan’s chin like a teacher scolding a student. But Stan’s feet are bouncing on the carpet. 

“I don’t know what your ‘weird’ is, man, I’ll give you that,” Richie says, crossing his legs so his knee lands safely on Stan’s thigh. “But something is off here, and Patty said something to me the other night-”

Stan whips his head to face him. “Patty said something to you?” 

“I _knew_ it!” Richie points. 

Stan clenches his eyes shut. “Shit.” 

“Yeah, shit, now fucking tell me what’s wrong.” Richie shoves their shoulders together, jerking Stan over an inch, then grabbing at his shoulders to bring him back. Stan tries at a laugh, but it comes out more like a strangled whine. 

“Everything has been… different. Since Derry.” Stan’s eyes are shifty. “Right?” 

Richie considers it. It takes him less than a second. “Fuck yes.” 

Stan slumps in what looks like relief. As if Richie was about to say, “no, man, I feel exactly the same, it’s just that my existential fears are now all back, I wonder what I’ve done with my life, and my libido is through the roof because I can actually feel things!” and leave it at that. 

“Okay, so, I’ve been talking it through with Patty-”

“Gross,” Richie says, because that warms his fucking heart.

“And she thinks that this has clearly brought up a lot of stuff from my childhood-”

“Right, yes, the clown, the horrors, the mighty bond of friendship.” 

Stan’s lips curl into what desperately wishes to be a smile, Richie can tell.

“Richie.” 

Richie claws his own walls down and slams a hand down onto Stan’s bouncing leg. 

“Staniel.” 

“Do you want to have sex with me?” 

Richie doesn’t have a drink, but it feels like he’s choking on something. 

“Richie,” Stan says again, like this is a totally normal conversation between friends. But Richie hasn’t had friends for almost thirty years, so it might very well be. 

“You have a wife,” Richie says, like that’s some kind of answer, the air clenching in his throat. Stan shrugs.

“Didn’t you talk to her?” 

Richie thinks back. There were lots of hints dropped that night, and not only the “everything he wants” humdinger. Lots of talk of the Losers. Lots of talk of Stan. Lots of talk of their childhood together, of growing up, of Richie hiding who he was. Of how Stan would have understood. Of how Stan probably would have understood more than he knew.

“Stan,” Richie starts, but then Stan is leaning forward, into Richie’s face, into Richie’s lips, into a heated kiss, and Richie is… he just is. He throws a hand around the back of Stan’s neck and goes along for the ride. 

Their lips drag, a tongue here, a touch of teeth there, and then Stan hums deep in his chest. Richie wants to press even closer, because Stan kisses like he does everything else: with concentrated intensity. Long, drawn-out patterns of holding their mouths together while his hands skate the planes of Richie’s body. Up over his shoulders, across his thighs, down his arms. Then nipping gently, shifting positions, until Richie wants to push him back into the couch and kiss and kiss and _kiss_ until neither of them can breathe. 

“I wanted this,” Stan says into his mouth, and Richie swallows it up, doesn’t think about it, just lets it happen, “I wanted this so much when we were kids.” 

Richie pulls back, chest tight. “You-”

“Let’s not- now I’m making it weird,” Stan huffs, trying to recapture Richie’s mouth, but it’s like the dam has been stopped up. No water getting through. 

“No, wait, wait, I need- now that I think about it I need a little more clarity here,” Richie says. He takes a breath and moves away from Stan’s waiting face, Stan’s open mouth, Stan’s eager hands and soft hair and milky skin and- oh-

“What, what?” Stan asks, all flushed and red and blown pupils. 

“You’re married.”

Stan nods. “Indeed.” 

“Indeed,” Richie scoffs, then thinks better of it, “I don’t- is this _okay_?”

“We talked about it,” Stan says again, his hands finding Richie’s thighs again, even with the half inch of space Richie managed to set between them. 

“You talked about us fucking?” Richie feels like he’s on fire. 

“We may have tossed around the idea,” Stan says, low and tight, kissing into the center of Richie’s chest. He pulls at the hem, and Richie sheds it willingly. He’s not used to someone wanting him quite like this. He’s not used to wanting it so badly back. But Stan holds him with strong, hot eyes, and he feels like they’re in this together.

It feels good. He feels safe. 

“You’ve _tossed around_ the idea of you fucking me,” Richie starts, leaning back against the couch, letting Stan stretch across his chest, “when? When the fuck did you do tha- wait.”

“Richie, I have sex with my wife,” Stan says, serious, almost emotionless, completely innocuous, but it sends a shiver up Richie’s spine. They talked about him. They talked about _Richie_ in bed. And surely, besides some sleepy dalliances in the hotel room in Bangor, they probably didn’t get to full-on discussion mode until they were back in Atlanta. 

With Richie in the other room. Down the hall. Jerking off, most likely. Increased libido, and all that. 

Stan’s hands are roaming curiously over Richie’s bare torso, skating through soft rises and falls, pinching at the hair around his nipples. His breath is coming is staccato bursts against Richie’s skin, so Richie claims him in a searing kiss, biting gently at his bottom lip and groaning. When they pull away, Richie surges forward, licking at the edge of Stan’s nose. Stan flinches and waves him away. 

“Tell me what you want,” Richie says, because Stan has always seemed like a Man with a Plan. 

“I’m gonna suck you off,” Stan says, as Richie’s stomach lurches painfully, “and then you’re going to fuck me.” 

“Oh, is that right?” Fuckin’ called it.

Stan doesn’t bother answering to that - he’s far too busy shedding his own shirt and falling to his knees between Richie’s. A shaky hand pets through Stan’s curly hair, soft, with a good hold. Richie hums his appreciation as Stan wiggles him out of his belt and pants. The fabric of the couch isn’t ideal, his bare ass is sticking already and he’s barely broken a sweat, but then Stan digs his hands underneath and _grips_. 

As soon as Richie’s dick is out of his pants, Stan’s hand is wrapped around it. 

“You’ve gotta- hah!” Richie tries not to fold in on himself. Or headbutt Stan. He’d actually like to get an orgasm out of this, and isn’t that a kicker? He’s going to fuck _Stan_. Stan’s _hand_ is starting to slide over him. He’s getting hard right in front of Stan’s face. What a world he’s living in. Speaking of-

“Tell me more about this, uh, this dirty little conversation you had with Patricia, my favorite woman in the world.” Richie’s hips are already pistoning up under Stan’s fingers, Stan’s tight, fast grip, and his easy, calm face, like he was put on this Earth to jerk Richie Tozier off and he’s totally fine with that, if not a little inconvenienced. Then, he smiles. 

“Don’t let Beverly hear you say that.” Stan flicks his thumb over Richie’s slit. Richie can see the precome leak slowly down the tip. He wants Stan to lick it off. 

“We talked about this,” Stan mumbles, lips pressed to the moisture. His tongue dips out to swirl around the head. “Me with a cock in my mouth.” Another swirl, this time wetter. “Me with _your_ cock in my mouth.” 

Richie sucks air through his nose so fast he almost passes out. “Y-yeah?” 

“Mmhm, c’mon.” Stan nudges under Richie’s thigh to lift it to his shoulder, then goes to town.

Richie lets it roll over him in waves, once he shuts down the part of his brain that’s telling him this is a bad idea. He’s made out with a married guy before, behind a Wendy’s, because he’s _classy_ , but this is Stan. Stan and Patty, more importantly. He loves Patty to death, and he’s only known her for a few months. The most intense, soul-searching two months of his life, but the sudden shock of friendship to his system still scares him. Hurting Patty is simply not an option. But Patty knows. Patty _wants_ this. Patty- she wants Stan to have everything. And so does Richie. 

Richie burns bright with a love for Stan, mixing now with something new and exciting he didn’t know existed within him. The ability to mix lust and love is an unfamiliar, heady cocktail of getting your brain sucked through your dick while staring down at the person doing it and hoping they’re getting something out of it other than a mouthful of come. 

“ _Richie_ ,” Stan sighs into wide kisses, sloppily tonguing around the sides of his cock. It bounces against Stan’s tongue and they both moan. Richie brushes a hand through Stan’s hair again, not pulling, not forcing, just holding. Just letting Stan know he’s there. 

Stan bobs up and down, letting the length of him rest against his palate, then sucking again. A loud slurp starts pairing the movement, and Richie wants to push his hips up badly to fuck Stan’s face, but he’s trying to take his time. 

“Tell me,” Richie breathes, because he’s so fucking desperate to know he could cry, “tell me what you talked about.” 

Stan’s eyes are glassy with recognition, still in control, still retaining all his wits, and Richie would hate him for it if he weren’t sucking cock like a champ. And from the sound of it, it’s his first time. Or maybe not. Richie doesn’t know much about Stan’s past _after_ him and _before_ Patty. Or _during_? Is he the first?

Either way, Richie’s going to erect a whole statue in honor of Patricia Blum Uris and her show of spousal support. 

“Why don’t I tell you while you finger me,” Stan says. It’s a statement of fact, not a request, but Richie’s brain is somewhere between blissed out nonsense and hyper-drive, so nothing clicks until Stan gets up to leave. Richie sheds his socks. Stan comes back with a bottle of lube and a condom. 

“Are we doing this on the couch, or-”

Stan grimaces. Richie’s hard, red, pointed dick is sticking out like a sore thumb from where he’s sitting. 

“No,” Stan decides, grabbing Richie’s hands, “your bed, c’mon.”

“Okey-dokey.” 

As soon as they’re through the door, Richie’s got a warm, eager Stan plastered all up against his front. He hisses at the friction on his dick until Stan pumps around it again, his hands slippery with lube. His voice is dark and deep, like Richie’s never heard it. 

“You gonna put this in me?” 

Richie almost doubles over. “Yeah, fuck, _yeah_ , you really thought about me? Like, _me_?” 

Stan laughs, and kisses, mouthing all down the side of Richie’s cheek, across the stubble on his neck, rasping together through a layer of saliva that makes Richie want to drop to his knees in return. 

“Yeah, you, Rich,” Stan says, then holds at his neck to meet his eyes, “I wanna try this with you.” 

Richie bites hard at the skin of his cheek and pushes through the edging flood of tears. Sexy. Sex. Sexy times. He still sighs like a fucking schoolgirl, and Stan takes pity on him. 

“As soon as I mentioned it, Patty was on the internet asking me if I knew they sold sex swings,” Stan says with a fond huff, and Richie’s not sure if that makes him want to cry more, or fuck Stan into tomorrow. He makes a note to open up a dialogue with Stan and Patty about possibly recording themselves the next time they’re discussing him in bed, but then Stan’s hand is sneaking around his own waist, and Richie certainly can’t have _that_.

“Get on the bed, Mr. Impatient.”

“Are you telling me what to do?” Stan asks, a happy glint in his eye. Richie kisses at him, delight firing through all his cylinders, not thinking of Eddie for the first time in two months. But then he _does_ think of Eddie, of course, of kissing Eddie like this, of vibrating with need together, of waiting to climb into bed with Eddie, instead of Stan, instead of-

“Rich,” Stan says, cutting through Richie’s thoughts. “You good with this?” 

Richie shakes it off. Stan doesn’t deserve this. “Yeah, man.”

“You thinking about Eddie?” 

Richie balks. “What the _fuck_ , Stan, your fingers are _inside_ of you right now.” 

Stan’s leaned back on the bedspread, the one Richie shoddily made up this morning to half-ass it as a polite guest, already knuckle deep and legs akimbo. Hearing Eddie’s name come out of his mouth is a little… well. It’s a little bit of a turn on, actually. Is this how it’s going to be? They talk about Eddie and Patty in bed?

Richie wouldn’t… rule it out, exactly. 

“Just because I’m trying to be efficient doesn’t mean I can’t also be a good _friend_ ,” Stan says, in his Stan voice, but with his hands between his legs and his sweat sticking a lock of hair to his forehead. Richie sits next to him on the bed and joins their hands together. Stan shifts onto his side so Richie can spoon up behind him. 

“I want this now,” Richie whispers into his ear, feeling oddly confident, oddly _good_ , and wanting Stan to feel good, wanting to feel Stan all over. 

“I want you,” Stan growls. Richie slicks up his fingers and presses one against Stan’s rim before he loses his nerve. It feels raw, open and waiting, so Richie pushes in further. Stan’s arm slings back, around Richie’s neck. He tongues into Richie’s mouth, swallowing his moans. 

“Did Patty touch you like this?” Richie asks, Stan burning around him. He wants to know. He really fucking wants to know.

“ _Unf_ , yeah, she got me ready, too,” Stan grunts, throwing his hips back. He’s hot to the touch, sucking Richie in with greedy circles. Richie’s neglected cock bobs wet at Stan’s thigh. 

“Ready for what?”

Stan whines. Richie’s hips buck. “The strap on.” 

“What the f- Patty _fucked_ you?” He’s not sure what he expected, but it’s making him hard as nails. 

“Obviously, _oh_ , give me another,” Stan orders, pushing back until Richie complies, and then Richie gets lost in the slick, gasping feeling of Stan’s hole around him. They move together in jerky thrusts, Richie bolting his mouth around the notch pushing out of Stan’s shoulder and licking harder when Stan hisses at his scissoring fingers inside. 

“Patty doesn’t go this slow,” Stan moans. Richie’s stomach drops out with a laugh, a high, reedy thing he doesn’t recognize, but he’s so fucking happy he could burst. “She gets me real wet first, _shit_ , shit, Richie, go harder, is what I’m saying-”

“Fuck, okay, pushy,” Richie hisses back, his wrist already aching. He’s had enough of this back to front bullshit, he wants to see Stan come apart before he fucks him, so he pulls out gingerly and shoves at Stan’s shoulder until he turns around. 

Stan’s flushed all over, tan skin and ridiculous muscles, stretching up onto his back across the bed. So Richie jumps him. 

He slots his fingers in hard, two at once, drizzling lube in healthy squirts before laying across the length of Stan’s writhing body. Richie wants to kiss and touch and feel and fuck Stan all night, but then his wrist flares with pain and Stan throws an arm up in reaction and elbows Richie right in the chin. There’s a wet clench around Richie’s thumb inside, and Stan moans out something half between pain and surprise. 

“What the _fuck_ , Rich-”

“I know, I know, it’s-”

Stan heaves a breath as Richie pulls out fully and braces himself around Stan’s head on the mattress. When their eyes meet, Richie can see that fucking stare, and he knows what this one means: you better get your shit together and fuck me. 

Then the stare breaks, dissolves and cracks with a snort, and Stan is reaching up to kiss Richie better, over the forming bump on his chin and into his mouth, a firm hand reaching around Richie’s back to push them together.

“You’re ridiculous,” Stan pants into his ear, grinding up so their cocks meet. Richie’s whole body is shaking, overrun with heat. He presses down harder, lining them up and starting a rocking motion until they’re both desperately humping at each other, with no eye on stopping. Not when Stan is starting to really _talk_. 

“I told her I wanted you to take me from behind, to push into me and just fuck me until I came, and then fuck me until you came, too,” Stan’s whispering in a fevered rush, body bouncing off the bed in a flurry of creaking and groaning, “Wanted you to come inside me, if you wanted that- I wanted- _Richie_ , Richie, fuck me, _now_ -”

“Yeah,” Richie says. He throws himself back, hand braced around the base of his dick, willing it not to go off immediately. He can’t help but be close - imagining Patty pressing Stan into the bed, fucking him multiple times, wringing him dry while Stan whines and wiggles and begs for it. God, he’s so fucking excited, quickly jerking himself while he finds the condom, and as soon as his hand meets with something crinkly, Stan starts talking again. 

“I cannot wait until that thing is in me, Rich, your dick is like, intimidatingly big and I’m trying-”

“Ohfuck,” Richie grits out, clenching his eyes shut, trying to push down that cresting feeling, but he knows he can’t stop it. In a panic, he moves to press the tip of his dick between Stan’s thighs, and Stan, mother _fucker_ that he is, just lets his legs fall open _wider_ -

“You’re serious- you’re seriously coming, oh fuck, come on me at least, Richie- I can’t believe-”

And Richie is coming hard, uncontrollable spasms, leaned over Stan’s body, streaking the inside of Stan’s thighs, but mostly, covering his open hole.

“Fuck, I would be mad, but that was kind of hot-”

And Richie’s still coming, he’s probably still coming but his brain is also burning, so he keeps thrusting into his own fist and falls down onto his knees to lave his tongue over the mess on Stan’s ass. 

“Richie, oh, _oh_ , oh,” Stan moans, pressing up into Richie’s mouth, and Richie groans, oversensitive and floating. His hand is wet with his own release, so he wraps it around Stan’s cock once he’s well and truly done. It’s a filthy slide, and Stan’s hand cups over his while Richie eats his ass clean, licking around the rim for good measure. They pump Stan to orgasm together, Stan’s legs kicking dangerously in the air, Richie’s free hand holding Stan’s cheeks open so he can get in deep until Stan shakes him off. 

When Richie moves back, Stan’s used hole clenches at him. Richie’s distracted by fucked out noises Stan is making above him, but it looks a little like it’s- 

“Did you just _wink_ at my asshole?” Stan says above him, still out of breath, and Richie eases off his aching knees and laughs. 

“It goaded me!” 

“It’s had a hard day,” Stan says back, quick, and Richie flops down next to him on the bed, “it was expecting a big dick and all it got was a measly tonguing.” 

Richie snorts. “It got you there! I’ll have to owe you one.” He slaps lazily at Stan’s arm. He means it, too. 

“Nah,” Stan sighs, still pancaked out. Richie feels smug. “You’ve got more exciting prospects than me.” 

“The fuck I do,” Richie says. He doesn’t want to talk about this. Not yet. Plus, no one is better than _Stan_. “You made me blow by talking, Stan the Man, I’d call that pretty fuckin’ exciting.” 

Stan turns to look at him with soft eyes. Richie doesn’t want to turn to meet him, but he made a bit of a mess of this night, even if he graciously cleaned it up pretty well, so he does. Stan reaches out to grab at his chin. 

“You know what I mean,” he says, with his stare. Maybe Stan’s stare isn’t exactly mean. Maybe it’s more of a pin-you-to-the wall kind of stare. Either way, Richie would give his left arm to be under it, pinned by it, heaved in laughter beside it, just as long as it’s there.

Richie nods, then turns back to stare at the ceiling. Stan lets him simmer in for a minute before sitting up. “Now let’s go, I’m gonna kick your ass at Mario Kart.” 

“The fuck you _are_.” 

* * *

Eddie’s texts are almost impossible for Richie to ignore. 

_Almost_. 

They come in waves during Richie’s stay at Stan’s. 

_Have you broken anything at Stan’s yet?_

_Patty says you’ve settled in fine. Talked to her a little this morning._

_Did you fuck around with my phone while I was doing physical therapy and couldn’t stop you? Every time Bill calls me about apartment listings the Macarena plays and I know you had something to do with it._

_I downloaded a mobile version of that old Duck Hunt game Bill’s dad had? I think it was in their basement, and you’d hold that dumb bright orange gun for hours, trying to beat his high score cause he yelled at you once for being too loud._

_Anyway, the mobile version fucking sucks._

That’s the final straw. 

Richie types a quick, _Why would you think you could shoot without the beauty of that plastic shotgun at your disposal? What is, a click and play?_ And throws his phone onto the bed next to his half-packed suitcase. 

He’s leaving Patty and Stan’s tomorrow, on his way to Mike’s now that he’s got a place to stay. He’s been using the “laying low until the storm of my Big Gay News blows over” excuse for weeks, and it seems to be flowing seamlessly into his next couch-surfing stop at Michael’s. But it’s a lie. He doesn’t want to go home and be alone with his thoughts. He just wants to ignore what’s right in front of him.

The little asshole lighting his phone up. 

Richie’s heart almost jumps out of his chest when he realizes Eddie is trying to _Facetime_ him. Who the fuck gave Eddie Kaspbrak the nerve to make a spontaneous Facetime call? Richie hits decline before his hands start full on shaking. 

The next text comes a few seconds later.

 _Okay, I might have jumped the gun there, but I just got to the level where the hound dog shows up and I remembered you trying to kill it every fucking time and Bill screaming at you because he thought it was cute! Haha!_

Richie’s heart turns to ash in his chest. Drains down through his ribs and into his intestines until his stomach starts aching. The deep, untouchable thing settled at the bottom of his gut stirs around. He picks up his phone. 

_I’ll find that damn dog one day. I’ve got 30 years of built up aggression toward that fucker, he better watch out._

Three dots appear immediately. _He’s a lot slower in the mobile version, if you’re willing to fork over a dollar,_ Eddie says back. 

Richie gives up on packing, throws himself onto his bed and sets to responding. And downloading.

Almost an hour later, when Stan calls him for dinner, he’s still typing furiously and giggling like a schoolgirl. 

_Gotta go, it’s time for Uris dinner._

_Wow, they really have adopted you,_ Eddie says. Richie longs to see his easy, dimpled smile. He almost regrets rejecting the Facetime. Eddie hasn’t mentioned it since.

Richie bites at the inside of his cheek. Eddie’s bound to find out sooner or later that Richie’s making his way to Mike’s next, but for some reason, Richie’s holding back. Eddie’s got a lot going on, and yet, they barely brushed the surface of anything serious the whole time they’ve been texting. Eddie’s sent messages to the group text about his impending divorce, and Richie’s overheard his conversations with Patty. Richie doesn’t even know where he’s _living_. He mentioned Bill helping him earlier - maybe he’s following the ol’ Tozier path and couch surfing amongst his best buds. Although Richie hopes he’s not following the exact… same path.

But Richie isn’t the friend you approach for real, adult advice. Richie’s the friend you find when you want a good time. A laugh, a distraction, anything but real feelings and emotions. 

Everyone knows Richie isn’t good at that shit. 

_Yeah, I’m looking at options for child support payments when I blow out of here for Mike’s tomorrow. I’ve grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle and I’m not willing to compromise!_

Richie winces. He feels so fucking obvious. 

Three dots appear. Then fade. Then reappear. Richie considers throwing his phone under the couch and not coming back until dinner is over. 

Just as he’s about to do it, and follow the deliciously wafting fumes from downstairs, a text comes in. 

_Have a good dinner, then, man. And a good time with Mike_. 

Richie’s not sure if he’s disappointed or relieved. His phone blinks again.

 _And you better send me fucking screenshots if you ‘kill’ that dog. I’m not taking your word as proof, asshole_. 

It’s like someone pulled every knot loose in his body at once. He smiles, types back a quick _Fuck off, my word is gold_ , and tries not to think about Eddie all through dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, of course, to Andie, and to the Big Dick Eddie gc for sustaining me and workshopping this and dealing with literally endless whining about something I decided to bring upon myself. I love you all so much I could cry because I'm a cancer but you're all just so good. Love to the whole server, of course, of course, hope y'all enjoy this one!
> 
> Please leave me a comment if you're able, and as always, find me on Tumblr at [tinyangryeddie](https://tinyangryeddie.tumblr.com/) or Twitter, where I'm [camerasparring](https://twitter.com/camerasparring)!


	2. Mike Hanlon and The Man-Made Pond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike Hanlon is extremely considerate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am again, thank you all for your lovely comments and thoughts and for reading this wild ride. My writing has stalled a bit but as I said, I have quite a bit built up.
> 
> Enjoy!!
> 
> CHAPTER TAGS: 69ing, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Mike/Richie, Alcohol Use, friends boning friends and Dirty Talk.

Mike Hanlon is extremely considerate. 

And he’s a fucking interior design genius. 

“It’s a rental, man,” Mike laughs when Richie tells him this, softly removing two wine glasses from a dark, wooden, upside down wine-glass-holder thing nailed into the cabinets. There’s a farm sink and a huge island, just like the Uris’ had. Richie only left this morning, flying directly into Mike’s new (temporary) hometown of Tampa to be bogged down by… well. Bog weather. 

He’s tired. But Mike offered him wine, so. House guests can’t be choosers. 

“Still,” Richie hedges, motioning for Mike to fill up his glass to the brim. He doesn’t care about decorum. He’s here to celebrate the next stage of his life with Michael: actually, like, starting his _life_. He’s got a month and a half to write some new “gay friendly” material, according to his new agent, Harriet, who is fiesty and demanding and realistic and reminds him of another spark plug of a human being he _wishes_ were around a little more, but is currently in the process of also starting his life. Or starting his life over. 

Richie’s got a lot going on, anyway. Writing, finally departing Atlanta, setting plans with Mike to stay for a week and then Ben and Bev once they unpack their new place. 

He’s actually feeling… optimistic. 

Maybe that’s what almost-fucking Stanley Uris will do for a guy. Either that, or it made him realize his whole life doesn’t begin and end with his overwhelming (one-sided) pining for Edward Kaspbrak. 

So when Mike brings up his own romantic entanglements (or lack thereof), Richie is feeling surprisingly equipped to help him out. 

“If she’s not into you, then she has no fuckin’ idea what she’s doing, dude,” Richie slurs, because he might be equipped, and fully sober, but the intoxication of spending so much time with his friends is getting to him. Mike full body laughs, throwing his head back to expose the long line of his throat, perfectly smooth and shaved, and maybe it’s the tannins or whatever, but Richie wants to bite it. 

“It’s not-”

“It _is_ ,” Richie assures him. 

“Rich, you don’t even know what I was going to say.” Mike lifts off the couch to refill his glass, but Richie waves off his own second helping. He doesn’t really need it. As time went on at the Uris mansion, even strawberry margarita night petered out under the guise of actual adult conversation. As well as some, uh, _very_ adult conversation, once Richie had the whole story. 

“All I’m saying is: she’s a jackass.” 

Mike crooks an eyebrow as he sits back on the couch. “I’ll give you that one.”

“Thank you,” Richie says, sipping carefully. Red wine has always struck Richie as far too fancy for him. Very adult. Something Eddie would drink. 

Dammit. 

“But it’s not a she,” Mike says. Richie pauses. Lets that mull over.

“No?” he asks, like Mike would pull one over on him. Like Mike isn’t the most sincere person he’s ever met. 

“No.”

“Right.” Richie sucks at his wine, pushing the liquid through the gap in his front teeth. Mike watches him calmly. “I- as well. Also. Feel. Toward- I’m… I like-”

“You like men, I know this Richie, you came out to the world before the damn group chat.”

“Right.” Richie takes another drink. Maybe he should have gotten that refill after all. 

Mike slaps a hand onto Richie’s knee. “What about you?” He shakes at Richie gently. 

“What,” Richie spits. Does he mean Eddie? Does he mean Stan? Does he mean agreement he made with Patty about recording them? It’s then that Richie realizes he kind of has a lot going on. 

“Do you- are you interested in anyone?” Mike slides his legs out so he can recline, hand still safe around Richie’s bony knee. Richie sits up, and puts his glass down to save himself the wine hangover. He barely feels it, but he wants it to stay that way. 

“Uh.” Richie stares straight out at the watercolor portrait of doves on the opposite wall. How did he think Mike decorated this place? “Yeah. Yeah, there’s some- yes. There’s someone.”

Mike nods and moves his hand to Richie’s back. It rubs a soothing line, up and down the length of his spine. Richie holds in the shiver. It’s just so fucking _nice_ to be touched. And Mike’s hands are warm and possessive in a way Richie longs for. 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he says, softly. Richie wants to protest, but Mike doesn’t owe him anything, and Richie’s not sure he wants to talk about it. Thankfully, Stan had dropped it after that first night. 

“I will… I _will_ talk about it. Sometime, just-”

“Not yet,” Mike finishes. 

Takes one to know one, Richie thinks. 

“Yep. Yep, probably. Maybe.” Richie looks down at his shaking hands. “I’m at, like, at _least_ sixty percent right now.” 

Mike laughs again. Richie swears he can feel it rumble the whole couch.

They linger in the echo of Mike’s laugh, each of them shifting in their seats as Mike’s hand continues it’s rhythm over Richie’s back. Richie bounces his toes in his shoes and tries not to let his mind wander, tries not to think about how good the touching feels, tries not to-

“I’m fuckin’ horny, I can tell you that,” Richie blurts.

Mike’s hand stops abruptly at the small of his back and _presses_. 

Mike is just so big, like, bigger than Richie is, and if that isn’t fucking fascinating? He’s warm and easy to be around and his voice could summon a troupe of horny gays from a mile away and Richie is reminded of Stan’s bold kiss on his own fancy couch and then Mike’s hand slides up fast to cup around the back of Richie’s neck. 

“Holy shit, me too,” Mike gasps as they collide hard, all teeth and lips and a groan somewhere in there, but Richie’s too focused on trying not to knock the glasses clean off his face. Mike’s hands come up to cup at both of Richie’s cheeks, squeezing a little painfully until Richie plasters their chests together in a rush. Richie’s hands are selfishly free, so he gets it together and starts picking at the buttons on Mike’s shirt. 

“Get- can you-”

Mike shifts out of his hold to rip his shirt open. “There.” 

Richie’s mouth swells with saliva, and maybe his tongue - can a person have an physiological reaction to a chiseled set of abs? Because half of his face is numb. 

“I don’t think,” Richie starts to say before he loses all power of speech, but Mike is working to open his shirt in a less-button-popping more lifting-it-over-his-head type way, so Richie goes with it and swallows down the insecurity. 

“Can I lick your chest?” Mike asks. There’s no way Richie could have prepared for that, for _this_ , so he wiggles what he thinks is his neck and it must work, because next thing he knows there’s a tongue on his left nipple. Richie clings to the back of Mike’s head, soft and shorn, and Mike exhales a breathy moan. 

“You’re fuckin’ killing me, dude,” Richie says, arching to give Mike better access. Stan spent almost no time on Richie’s chest. Thankfully, Mike seems content to make up for it. 

“This okay?” 

“Yes, _yes_ , it’s more than okay, keep-”

Mike’s head pops up, tongue lolling out of his mouth. “Keep sucking on your nipples?”

Richie nods. “Fuck yeah.” But Mike just eyes him brightly. 

“Can I suck your dick, too?” 

Richie stretches out a spreadsheet in his head. Blowjobs: Stan? Check. Mike? Check, god, please, check. 

“Mhm, yes, yes, that’s good,” Richie says, and Mike huffs a laugh before setting back on teething the pink lift of Richie’s nipple. “Fuck, Mike, that’s good.”

“You’re so hairy,” Mike responds. Richie grunts.

“Yeah, uh, sorry about that.” Richie feels his face heat in shame. “But I’m pretty well groomed downstairs, if you’re worried-”

“I like it,” Mike growls, pressing hands to Richie’s bare chest, and Richie looks down to see long, strong fingers denting into his skin and next thing he knows his head is thunking against the back of the couch. 

“Oh.” 

Mike drags blunt nails down the length of Richie’s torso, over his nipples, still wet with his spit, through the dip of his belly button and finally resting on his fly. Richie’s brain is misfiring a bit since the hair comment, so when Mike’s face falls before they’ve even started, all the alarm bells join in ringing. 

“You havin’ some second thoughts, Mikey?” 

Mike falls back onto his haunches and looks quizzical. “No, not that.” 

Richie sits up. He wants to reach for his shirt, but gives it a second. “But it’s something?” 

“Yeah, I,” Mike says, moving back up to sit next to Richie, “I wanna be honest here. Is that alright?” He’s so sweet and so broad. So different from Eddie in so many ways, but Richie still- Whatever Mike wants to or doesn’t want to do, Richie is fine with. But Richie would be lying if he said he didn’t want this badly now that he’s had a taste. 

“Of course,” Richie says, even though the honesty thing is a little out of his wheelhouse right now. Fucking through his friends? Sure, easy. Being vulnerable? Yikes. 

“I haven’t- I’m not a virgin,” Mike stops, stares Richie dead in the eye. Richie’s mind whites out, but he nods, and that seems to be what Mike wants, because he continues, “I’ve just never done this with someone I- I _loved_ , and I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“Oh,” Richie mumbles.

“But I’m not _in_ love with you, you know? And I am _in love_ with someone, at least I think- and you’ve got something else going on, kind of, I guess, and I don’t want to say something I’d… regret.”

Richie squints. “Are you worried you’re going to call me a slut or something? Cause dude, I’ve heard worse than that, and in the moment I’m sure I could-”

“ _What_?” Mike practically slides off the couch. Richie grips at his arm to hold him up, and _god, fuck_ , his muscles. “What?? No, no no, I’m not- I mean if you were _into_ that, I could- no,” Mike shakes his head, “No, I mean I don’t want us to feel bad thinking about- not that I’m not thinking of you! It’s just-”

“Wait,” Richie says, catching on, “you’re saying you don’t want to accidentally say the dude’s name while we’re fucking around?” 

Mike visibly sags in relief. “Exactly.” 

Richie cracks a smile, feeling the cat that got the cream. And speaking of-

“So why don’t we stretch out on that big rental bed of yours and keep our mouths otherwise occupied?” 

Mike’s eyes pop wide, but Richie’s not exactly worried he’s gone too far - pitching a friendly round of sixty-nineing doesn’t seem out of bounds at this point. Mike literally asked to suck his dick not five minutes ago. Besides, finally trying this with someone at least nearing his height is too good an opportunity to pass up. 

Luckily, Mike thinks so too, and they’re on their way to the bedroom after chugging some water (Mike is concerned about Richie’s wine intake and Richie is too horny to argue with him) and retrieving some lube and condoms (Mike insists he’s okay avoiding penetration but he wants to be prepared). 

They situate on the bed best they can, both fully naked, Richie’s fevered gaze caught on every dip and ripple in Mike’s body until he’s literally face to face with his dick, and then that’s about all he can think about. Getting that thing in his mouth. It’s intimidating, long and dark and a little thick, but Richie is only now realizing that he is far too inexperienced in the act of sucking cock. He means to change that. 

A strong, wet heat wraps around Richie’s aching cock, so apparently, Mike is beating him to it. 

A moan sputters unbidden from his mouth, half between a gasp and a desperate gulp of saliva until he’s leaning forward to lick a drip of precome off the tip of Mike’s dick in return. The result is a deep moan around his own cock where Mike’s lips are stretched. Fuck, he already wants to pump his hips and Mike’s just started. 

Mike’s hands are proportional to the rest of his body, which is to say _huge_. They cover every inch of Richie in a mad dash. Richie can’t help but look down before taking Mike in his mouth, but he almost regrets it. Mike’s eyes are clenched shut, his mouth wide open, his pink tongue sweeping out the side to catch the string of spit and then gather it back up to fuck Richie’s dick into his mouth. 

“You are, _hah_ , you are really fuck, _fuck_ , fuck, Mike-”

Mike pulls away and Richie’s hips piston, “The point of this was to keep your Trashmouth shut.”

Richie gasps. His fingers wrap around Mike’s ass and _curl_. 

“This was about you, too, hot stuff,” Richie says, and _damn_ , Mike’s ass feels good. Tight and toned and his nostrils burn with the sharp scent of him, so fucking close. 

“Richie-”

“Right, right, insert cock into Trashmouth and so on.” 

“Mmm,” Mike grunts rudely, fitting his lips back over the head. Richie follows his lead and smashes down any inhibitions, worries that Mike is _far_ out of his league or that Mike cares that maybe he’s thinking about what it would be like to wrapped all up in Eddie like this and just _goes for it_. That’s what Mike deserves. 

The scent, the _taste_ is even sharper with Mike filling his mouth, pushing at the back of his throat from the get-go. That’s the point: fucking each other’s faces. At least that’s how Richie is planning to play this, and Mike is already jerking shakily at him in circles, stuttering in his own choked gasps. Richie moans and works up some spit to ease the passage, and then it’s off to the races.

Just because there’s no talking, doesn’t mean it’s quiet. Thankfully, it’s a swamp town where air conditioning roams rampant in rentals, so no one’s cracked a window and he doubts they’re scarring any well-to-do retirees out jazzercising. Point is: Mike is _loud_. And Richie is competitive. 

Richie slurps and groans and whines and sputters, because again, hasn’t sucked a whole lot of cocks. But he wants it, fuck, does he ever, and he hasn’t had a gag reflex in years, so it comes naturally. Mike feels so good against his tongue, hot and eager for him, thrusting into his face with loving abandon, tapping at his hip bone every once in a while to check in before stuffing his mouth full again. Richie’s been on the edge for literal minutes, but Mike shows no sign of slowing down. In fact, just when Richie’s about to ask him to ease off lest he blow, Mike pulls back to wet his fingers in his mouth. 

It’s messy, there’s his own pre-come and saliva and sweat all mingled around Mike’s fingers and dripping from his mouth, but it’s sinfully hot. Then Mike makes eye contact, his own dick still pressed tight to Richie’s tongue, and spreads Richie’s ass cheeks to feel for his hole. 

“ _Unnnnf_ ,” Richie moans around Mike’s dick. He needs some air, so he pulls back, wrapping a big hand around it and digging his face into the mattress to keep from bursting apart. 

“You want that?” Mike asks. 

Richie whines again, but this time it’s not a fucking act. He wants something inside him, like, yesterday, and _fuck_ , he’s never been fucked before. He’s always stuck to handjobs and dry humping, and, _well_ , he’s been on the other side of it. Does he want Mike to fuck him? 

“Yeah,” he breathes instead, because there’s no need to decide that now, that’s not what Mike is asking, but he tucks it back there to inspect later. 

The next time one of his friends propositions him, perhaps. 

“Lemme get the, ah!” Mike finds the bottle of lube he (brilliantly) brought, and adds to the slick bodily fluids already coating his hand. As soon as he’s pressing inside, Richie is grateful for the wet. It distracts him from the light stinging and helps him focus on how much he wants _more_. Right _now_. 

“Fuck, fuck, _mmm_.” Richie swallows what he can of Mike again, a bright burning spreading down in his abdomen, flooding his balls and ringing around his asshole like a full body assault. Mike is touching him everywhere, licking messy all over his cock and groaning like a dying man, and Richie’s in between wondering how he got so fucking lucky and thinking of the best way to tell Mike to move back when Mike _does_ pull away, just in time for Richie start coming all over his face. 

Sure, he could be disappointed in himself for consistently poor, uh, _foresight_ , but he’s way too occupied with, firstly, jizzing his brains out, and secondly, the way Mike looks showered in said jizz. It ropes in filmy white lines across his cheeks and lips and chin, and his expression isn’t really that of horror, or anger, or understandable frustration, like Stan the Man Uris, but instead slack and open and… _turned on_. 

“Fuck, Mikey,” Richie breathes, his hips kicking out a few more unconscious thrusts, “come on my face, holy shit that’s so hot, please come on my face.”

Mike groans, cracking thunder all across his chest. His fingers, still held inside Richie, flinch, curl, circle back to their initial intended use, which is, apparently, to make Richie crazy. Richie jerks his hand quick and dirty at the base of Mike’s cock, so fucking desperate to see him come, to catch it all on his tongue and show Mike just how much he wants it. How much he’s thinking of _him_ , just Mike, just beautiful, sexy, kind Mike, who didn’t want to hurt him but still gives as good as he gets. 

“Richie, like that,” Mike whimpers as Richie curves his hand over the head, wishing he had a little of that lube. He pops it back in his mouth for the moisture, then says a mental fuck-it and audibly spitsinto his hand to make it smoother. That does it, that finally fucking does it, either from the noise or the feel, but Richie doesn’t care, because Mike is twitching in his hand and he _wants it_. 

“Come on me, baby, give it to me,” he’s mumbling as Mike does, covers his face just like Richie did first, but Richie is ready for it, and sticks his tongue out to catch what he can. 

“Rich, yeah, _oh_.” 

“Fuckin’ say my name,” Richie pants, out of his fucking mind and absolutely dripping, sucking a strong, sure ring around the head of Mike’s spurting cock, feeling on top of the world. 

* * *

Eddie is nothing if not persistent, so he eventually wrangles a call out of Richie after enough pushing. 

“I’m staring at a well-manicured lawn and two pink flamingos, I’m not shitting you, man,” Richie says, his hands still sweating from the anticipation of hearing Eddie’s voice again. 

Eddie laughs, and it’s easy. It’s really fucking easy. Richie just wishes it didn’t _hurt_. 

“Mike’s got horrible taste, I swear to god,” Eddie says. Richie smiles. Trashy taste, more like. 

“ _It’s a rental_ ,” he says in deep-Mike-cadence, and just as some vivid memories occur to him including that particular cadence, Eddie’s already tripping over himself on the other end. 

“Well fuck, I didn’t mean- I’m sure, I mean. I’m sure his place is great,” Eddie says, sighing heavily, “Real nice of him to let you stay, anyway.”

“He’s a real pal.” Richie tries not to think of Mike’s mouth slipping over his cock and shifts on the couch. “Probably my _best_ friend, since he always lets me win at Words with Friends.” 

Eddie’s huff is like music to Richie’s ears. “I can’t believe you got me addicted to this, I feel like a fucking eighty year old woman.” 

“Spaghedward-”

“Fuck off, I’m fucking _hip_ ,” Eddie huffs again. Now Richie’s hard for more than one reason. He missed Eddie’s flustered voice. 

“You did not just say hip, dude.” 

“Don’t fucking _dude_ me,” Eddie shoots back, but his voice is breaking, and Richie wants to jump through his phone and be next to him. He wants to sit thigh to thigh on the couch and poke at Eddie’s ribs while he works him up to a frothy anger. He wants to grab at the back of his neck and shake him playfully while Eddie’s face turns red. He wants to look over and see Eddie’s mouth stretching around a smile and-

“Listen, uh,” Richie starts, because that thing is creeping up closer to his heart this time, imagining the shining look in Eddie’s eyes, drunk on the sound of his voice, desperate to make him laugh and see it in person.

But it stalls in this throat. 

“I should probably go,” Richie says, shaky and thin, “I think Mike is almost done with his afternoon walk or whatever.” 

“Well I actually-” Eddie clears his throat. “Where are you headed to after Mike’s?”

“Uh-”

“I know I had to settle for the fucking studio, but there’s this two bedroom that opened up in my building and the landlord said if I can give him two months up-front I could move within the month,” Eddie says all in a rush, “The fucker knows I hate it on the goddamn ground floor but I was in a bind, and I’m pretty sure I can afford it even after the lawyers slice up all my savings.” 

“Sure,” Richie offers, his mind spinning. Is Eddie asking him to stay? To visit? 

“Anyway, it’s not like I can have guests right away, I just thought I would offer in case you need a pit stop on your Losers tour of America or something,” Eddie says, and Richie’s stomach lurches. A heavy pressure slams through him. He’s been so fucking vulnerable since leaving Derry, finding comfort with his friends, letting them in so viscerally. He wants so desperately for Eddie to know him that way. It’s all he wants.

But he can’t fucking face that right now.

“Actually, our dear Beverly and her gentleman suitor are already courting me toward their new abode after-”

“Oh, right, right, of course, I didn’t mean anytime soon,” Eddie cuts him off. 

Richie frowns. “I’ll keep it in mind, though.” 

“Yep, sounds good,” Eddie answers. Richie wants to take all sorts of dumb cues from that, from the way he sounds agitated or disappointed or maybe _relieved_? But there’s no point, so he gathers it all up and locks it the fuck away. 

“So, uh, I guess I’ll see ya, Eds.”

“Yeah, Rich, I’ll- travel safe, or- yeah. I’ll see you!” 

Once they both hang up, Richie eyes the man-made pond on the other side of the condo complex. Do they usually make those things deep enough to drown yourself in?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the GC as always, you inspire my love of Mike Hanlon and all the dirty things he do, and thank you to everyone reading, you sustain me. 
> 
> Please leave me a comment if you're able, and as always, find me on Tumblr at [tinyangryeddie](https://tinyangryeddie.tumblr.com/) or Twitter, where I'm [camerasparring](https://twitter.com/camerasparring)!


	3. Beverly Marsh, Ben Hanscom, and The Gauche Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beverly Marsh and Ben Hanscom are the perfect combination of give and take. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three chapters in a week? It's an event, what can I say? (No, it's mostly that I'm impatient.)
> 
> Chapter tags: Public Sex, Threesome F/M/M, Anal Sex, Cockwarming, Spitting, Dom/Sub, Crying during Sex, Barebacking, Felching, Dirty Talk, Pining, and Dumb Boys in Love.
> 
> Warning for this chapter and the rest of the fic: I play very fast and loose (lol) with barebacking here, so please do not take any of this as advice on how to have safe sex.

Beverly Marsh and Ben Hanscom are the perfect combination of give and take. 

“I almost had him, and then Mr. Nice Guy over here has to tell the salesman that ten is _just fine_.” Bev spins the steering wheel, turning into the entrance, but still poking a finger into Ben’s stomach in the passenger seat.

“I was fine with paying ten! We have money!” Ben says back, light and fond. Richie grins from the backseat as they take hands over the center console. They are disgustingly cute. Teasing and prodding and pressing small kisses to each other’s cheeks. Richie misses Eddie with a sting in his gut. 

“So why do you even need a truck?” He asks, pushing all that to the side, as he’s gotten so good at doing, “Other than hauling our asses to the drive-in every week?” 

It’s the second time they’ve done this since he’s arrived and it’s one of his favorite new activities. Staring up at the stars with his friends and listening to Bev wax poetic about shitty, one-dimensional characters while she throws popcorn at the screen. Ben sweeps it up and grumbles, but kisses her once he’s done. Richie feels a little here like he did with Stan and Patty - desperate in the presence of love. But here it’s _new_ love, and that’s somehow even worse.

Ben shrugs. “I’m landscaping the new place and it just seemed easier this way. I thought we got a pretty good bargain.” He grins when Bev rolls her eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, Mr. Moneybags.” 

Ben snorts. “What am I? Moneybags or Nice Guy? Can’t have both.”

“You definitely can,” Richie cuts in, “and you’re both.” 

“You have more money than me!” Ben says, whirling around to furrow his brow in Richie’s face. The truck isn’t big, so they’re close, Richie all jammed up on the bench seat behind them. He can’t wait for the projector to get hummin’ so they can climb into the truck bed and really spread out. 

“Yeah, Richard, maybe you should’ve paid for the tickets instead of letting poor Mr. Architect of the Year rattle out his purse change,” Bev says. She digs her wallet out of her bag and hands it to Ben. Ben slaps it away and opens his door.

“I’m going to get snacks and drinks now that we’re parked, before Bev gives me anymore nicknames.”

Richie scoots forward to catch the end of Bev’s love-flushed face. “Goodbye Benjamin!” 

Bev moons, she fucking _moons_ her big eyes at the slammed door for almost a full ten seconds before noticing Richie. 

“You _love_ him,” Richie sing-songs.

Richie expects a hand wave, or a raspberry or maybe even a slap to the wrist, but instead all Bev does is sigh like a teenaged girl and say, “Yeah…” 

“Oh my god.” 

“Don’t you dare, or I’ll ask about Eddie.” She shoots him a look, cold and piercing. He startles. 

“Did Stan tell you?” Richie whispers, even though he can see Ben standing at the brightly lit concession counter, six whole car lengths away. They’re practically in the dark back corner of the lot, close enough to see the screen but far enough away that they can talk shit the whole time. 

“You told _Stan_ and not _me_?” Bev’s eyes narrow. Richie glares. 

“I-”

“I was trying to trick you but this really blew up in my face,” Bev says, grimacing. 

“Look,” Richie sighs, palming at his winged up knees, “I haven’t really- I haven’t talked to anyone about it. I just know Stan knows. And Mike might know I, uh. I’m interested in someone. So who knows if he’s put that together or not.” 

“ _Mike_?” 

Richie shrugs aggressively. “I’ve been getting around, Beverly!” 

She snorts. “Yeah, you wish.” Richie feels the competitive streak whip through him, hard and fast. 

“I don’t have to wish, little lady.” He wiggles his eyebrows, emboldened by his own half-confession. Bev doesn’t even look surprised, more… intrigued. 

“Well isn’t that-”

Ben’s door opening cuts her off. Richie’s not sure if he’s glad. Her eyes are sparkling with some kind of purpose - Richie can hear her thinking from the backseat. 

“They didn’t have any Twizzlers so you’re eating Red Vines and you’re going to shut up about it,” Ben says, throwing the package onto Richie’s lap.

“I am not fucking eating these, that’s sacreligious, Ben,” Richie answers, tearing the plastic open and popping one in his mouth. 

Once they’re set up in the truck bed, two layers of blankets underneath them, the screen lights up. The speakers crackle and Richie hums - that sound flows through him like the butter gratuitously caked over the bucket of popcorn he now possesses. Since Ben martyred himself and traded for Red Vines. The metal of the truck still digs a dull line into his back where he’s surrounded by pillows. Ben presses their arms closer together. 

“You happy, Rich?” 

Richie stares straight up to the stars. His teeth crunch over the salt and butter. A chill runs through the air, but the truck bed is warm and content. He nods, and means it. 

“Think so, Benny boy.” 

It’s dark, but Ben’s cheeks pink. He reaches a hand over to splay across Richie’s thigh, and Richie feels it like static across the planes of his skin. 

They settle into silence while the movie begins. Richie pays _attention_ , for the most part. But the stinging sensation of Ben’s hand on his thigh is enough to make any man crumble. The whole thing is about some dude who wrote created Wonder Woman, which fascinates Richie, it really does, it’s just that… Ben’s hand keeps _moving_. 

Richie’s no longer cooped up with thoughts of Eddie rambling his way through multiple Wonder Woman comics and something off-hand he heard about this lead actor being gay when Ben’s fingers start petting softly over his jeans. 

And it’s not surprising. Ben’s been more touchy since Richie arrived, and especially on movie nights. Playful slaps and gripping hands. 

Richie was practically struck dumb at the Jade when he saw both Ben and Bev standing on the sidewalk embracing, and to say he doesn’t still find them exceedingly attractive would be a heinous lie. He’s spent most of his time here flirting, and the other half trying to keep his eyes off Ben in particular. And Bev just watches. She’s watching now, her eyes hot on Ben’s hand instead of the screen. It reminds Richie of Stan, but… sure. Strong. She sucks at the straw of her drink and tucks herself further into the corner, where she’s propped up into a sit. 

“This flick is heating up,” she says quietly, and Richie snaps his attention away from the rough pull of Ben’s hand to the screen. There’s been a lot of heavy flirting, so it’s not a shock to see the two female leads in a lip-lock. Ben still gasps, his hand pulling away from where it was settled on Richie. 

A small whine almost rips from Richie’s throat. His arm comes up, almost unconsciously, to fall at Ben’s thigh, the same place Richie was being touched. The connection crackles as Ben looks to him. Bev clears her throat.

“You want him to touch you?” she asks, and both of them crane their necks up to look at her instead. 

Ben chuckles, humorless. “He’s already touching me.” Richie sees him bite his lip. 

“You know what I mean, honey.” 

Ben’s eyes slam shut. Richie’s fingers clasp hard around his thigh.

“Ben,” Richie says, at the same time Ben groans out a, “ _yeah_ ,” and Richie’s brain practically turns to mush. Putty in Ben’s hands. When Richie glances over to Bev again, she’s smiling kindly, eyes stuck on where Richie’s hand creeps closer and closer to Ben’s crotch. 

“You want me to touch you?” It feels like Richie’s breath should fog through the air, cutting through the tension. Both of them are tight-chested, thighs pressed together on the truck bed, Richie’s hand roaming while he waits. 

“Yeah, yeah, please,” Ben says in a rush, and Richie’s grabs at him without a second thought, “I didn’t want to- I didn’t mean to-”

When Richie feels Ben hard in his pants, both of them groan. Richie absently hears the squeak of Bev’s straw in the corner. 

“He’s fine with it, Ben, look at him,” Bev says, and Richie nods, because he wants this, he keeps _wanting_ this, even though he doesn’t know what it means. He wants Eddie. He loves Eddie so much he can barely breathe with it, can barely let it fill him up lest it empty him out. But with his friends - it’s different. He wants to make them happy. He wants to be made happy by them. He wants to touch them and help them and let them be there for each other. He wants to watch movies and listen to records and talk and kiss and feel and connect.

He wants to know them. He wants them to know him. He loves them, too, he really fucking loves them. 

“I’m fine with it,” Richie insists, palming at the hardening bulge of Ben’s crotch, his dick straining against the zipper, and Richie wants to reach up his shirt, graze over his abs, but then Bev is shifting in the corner again. 

“Get him hard,” she says, and Richie almost rolls his eyes.

“What do you think I’m doing?” 

Bev’s glare is deadly, but Richie wants to swim in it. It holds him down. He moans. 

“He gets so wet when you spend time getting him ready,” she says, eyes on Richie, “you’ll need him to be wet.” 

“Oh fuck,” Richie whispers into the night air. The movie is still going, lighting up the space around them, spreading a glow over Ben’s face. “What do you want me to do?” 

Bev smiles again. Richie wonders if this was what she was planning in the car. It couldn’t possibly be. Did they- they must have talked about this.

Well now Richie is wondering how many of his married friends were plotting with their partners to fuck him. He hasn’t talked to Bill in a couple weeks - could pull a three for three if he’s lucky. Although he’s heard the word divorce flung around about Bill and Audra for weeks.

“Harder,” Bev tells Richie. He complies faster this time, the command striking something in him to behave. 

The rough, hard feel of Ben is riling Richie up, too, and he longs desperately to pop his own jeans open and take himself in hand. But Bev seems to know what she wants. And she’s not shy about telling them. Turns out they’re both Bev’s putty. Molded easily in the palm of her hand. And Richie’s not- he’s not _not_ into it. 

Ben, for his part, is writhing into the blankets. He’s quiet - he’s the most modest Richie could imagine for someone getting jerked off through their pants in a public place, but Richie can see the way his face is heating. Not to mention the way he’s wetting a spot onto his pants. Richie grinds into it, spreads it around best he can through the denim. He wants it. 

“Richie.”

“Fuck,” Ben groans out, and it isn’t until then that Richie realizes it was Bev who said his name. 

“Mmm?” he asks, focusing on the light ridge of the head of Ben’s cock. Ben practically purrs when he traces it. 

“Richie, climb into his lap.” 

Richie’s eyes glaze over, the moving, blurry shapes on the screen fading into the background once again. Ben watches him, looking hungry. 

“Yeah?” Richie asks Ben. Ben nods. Bev does, too. 

Okay, so maybe Richie should just trust her. She seems to know what he wants. They’ve clearly-

“You two planned this.” Richie says, because it’s not really a question, and honestly, he’s not really inquiring. He just wants to hear them say it. He wants to know they talked about him, about what he could do for Ben. About what he could do for the both of them. God, it’s fucking hot. 

“I’m open to all new experiences,” Bev says, sweet as pie, smooth as silk, while Richie throws his legs over Ben’s thighs to straddle him. “No, turn around,” she corrects him. “Watch the movie.”

“Ah, yes,” Richie grunts, shifting on his already aching knees. Thank god for the blankets, at least. He’s never dry-ridden cock on such an unforgiving material before. “Wouldn’t want to waste the price of admission.” 

“Fuck,” Ben whispers into Richie’s neck when he’s finally settled. There’s two pairs of pants between them, far too much denim for Richie to feel much when Ben really starts to move his hips, but the harsh, damp panting is enough to know it’s doing something. 

“You like that?” Bev asks. Richie hangs his head with a nod, clinging to Ben’s knees to hold himself up. 

Ben answers instead, and yeah, that makes more sense. “Yeah, I do, I want-”

“You’ll get it, honey, you’re doing good,” Bev says. Richie groans. Oh my god, they’re talking about- _fuck_. 

“You wanna fuck me, Benny?” Richie says, because he deserves to have a part in this, too. It _is_ his ass they’re talking about, after all. Ben grabs tight around his hips and thrusts up in a torturous circle. Richie feels _that_ . “Nnnghhh, _oh_ -”

“You want him inside you, Rich?” Bev says, no indication she’s affected at all. Her voice has sounded the same from the beginning. Soothing and sweet to Ben. Sure and strong with Richie. Richie is more than impressed, he’s… he’s floored. 

“Yes, _yes_ ,” he gasps on another jolting rock, another tease of a real fuck, and maybe Richie should be worried, maybe he should be nervous because he’s never taken dick before, but he trusts Ben with his life. And he wants it _bad_. They both do. 

“I want to- Rich,” Ben’s saying, whispering like Bev won’t be able to hear, like he needs to let Richie know this, know this is between them, too, “I want to take care of you, Richie, I promise I-”

“I know, fuck, fuck, I can feel you,” Richie groans. The press of Ben’s hard cock is almost too much, and Richie imagines it inside. 

“Hush,” Bev scolds, “there’s still people around, I think that guy in the next car might be onto us.” 

Richie had no fucking idea _that_ would do anything for him, but it snaps Ben’s hips harder up against him, both of them a little too close to losing it. It’s true: they haven’t exactly been quiet. They’re far enough away that Richie is pretty sure no one would be able to tell, but it’s not like he’s been paying attention.

“Such a good watch out,” Richie tells Bev, and she huffs a small laugh that warms his heart. An odd sensation when his dick is about to rocket out of his pants, but then her eyes go cold and calculating again. 

“Get off him.” She and Ben exchange looks, and Richie peels himself off Ben’s lap. The crack of his ass is damp and he leans back to touch it. “He wants to suck your dick.” 

“Wh-”

“Rich,” Ben says again, in that now-familiar breathy tone, and Richie wants to give him _everything_. He clamors over to where Ben is still spread out on his back to finally undo his pants when Bev shoves a hand over his. 

“I’ve got that covered. You just take yours off,” she says, pointing at Richie’s own pants. He nods, gulps, and gets to it. 

“How are you gonna, uh,” Richie asks as he’s awkwardly tumbling his way out of them, and his briefs, trying not to alert any other families enjoying their movie about a threesome with an actual threesome right in their faces. Is this a threesome? 

Once Bev has Ben out of his pants, shoved down messily to the middle of his thighs, she takes his cock in her mouth almost immediately. Ben reaches out to where Richie’s hard dick is curling against his stomach. Richie shifts on his knees to bring it closer to Ben’s face until he can do the same thing. 

Definitely yes, then.

They move and flux together, so smoothly Richie feels tears burning at the corners of his eyes. Every time his hips piston forward into Ben’s open mouth he sees Ben’s hips do the same, a circle of give and take he feels blessed to participate in. He thinks of Ben asking for this, of Ben’s wanting eyes, of him imagining it while he touched himself. Richie’s getting used to the idea of being wanted, now. Of being thought of, of being dreamed about, of being touched reverently, like someone has really been waiting. 

It always brings him back to Eddie in the end. It always brings him back to wishing that Eddie could want him like this. Could be waiting for him, on the other side of the country. But he’s figuring himself out, too. Probably going on dates, maybe getting his dick sucked by the lovely ladies he’s found on OK Cupid. Perhaps dicking down women he’s met in the dentist’s office, who knows how Eddie Kaspbrak likes to woo them? 

Just thinking about Eddie taking control spikes something hot through him. Eddie throwing a woman onto his bed, sucking on her nipples while she giggles and groans for more, opening up his pants and entering her, holding her through her orgasm, kissing her cheeks, taking off her glasses, holding him- he- _fuck_. He’s too fucking close for this.

Ben and Bev are moving in constant circles together, a long sling of spit falling from the corner of Ben’s mouth and connected to Richie’s pulsing cock. Richie pulls back from the beautiful sight to gain back some control. 

“I can’t- I’m gonna come,” Richie says, and Bev’s head pops off Ben’s cock in a jiffy. Richie would laugh if he weren’t absolutely devastated at the sight of Ben’s pre-come coating her lips like a thin, clear lipstick. 

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she says, clearing her throat around the rasp, “he wants to fuck you.” 

“I fucking know _that_ ,” Richie says, moving carefully so he doesn’t plop his ass down too hard against the metal. “I’m saying we need to get a move on or-”

“Ben, what do you want, baby?” Bev asks. Richie’s chest clutches at the interruption, at being shoved to the side, and _fuck_ it’s overwhelmingly hot. 

Ben licks at his lips, clearly gathering himself. His voice is almost broken when he finally forces it to work. 

“Want him to feel good.” 

Bev nuzzles at Ben’s cock, still held firmly in her hand. “Such a sweet boy.” 

Richie almost passes out as Ben’s chest heaves between them.

“How are you so good at this?” Richie asks, then holds up a hand, “Wait, wait, don’t fucking tell me that, you can keep your secrets, just tell me where to go.” 

Bev and Ben share another look before Ben nods. What the- are they fucking _psychic_?

“Ben can open you up while I keep taking care of him,” she finally says, and it takes a few seconds for Richie’s brain to catch back up. Then Ben is pointing to the cabin of the truck.

“Lube is in the glove compartment.” 

“I’m literally _naked_ ,” Richie says, but Bev’s mouth is back around Ben’s cock, and Ben’s hand is tangled in Bev’s hair, and that’s a fucking _sight_ , so he stares at it for a long while before realizing absolutely no one is going to help him here. 

Richie considers pulling his pants back on - but he really doesn’t want to disturb what’s happening right in front of him. Plus Bev didn’t technically tell him he could put clothes back on and- what the _fuck_ is she really this powerful? 

He shoves it out of his mind and body-crawls out of the end, crouching into the grass like some sort of creature from the lagoon. The lack of height doesn’t allow him any insight to anyone around, so he’s not sure if he’s being way too shifty about this or if someone is watching him the entire way. Once he makes it to the front seat to pop open the glove compartment, he takes a breath and looks around. Bev was right: the guy in the car next to them (although _next_ is a relative term, Richie has to squint to see his face and he’s still got his glasses on) keeps turning his head. There could be extenuating circumstances, but it sends a thrill up Richie’s spine all the same. Maybe this guy’s got a crick in his neck, maybe there’s a squirrel that keeps darting in his line of vision. Or maybe he’s sneaking a peek at the throuple of friends currently getting it on in the back of their truck. 

Just then, Richie hears a throaty mumble come from the truck bed. His legs shake in anticipation when he climbs back out to head toward it, his cock hanging thick and ready between his thighs. When he gets back to Ben and Bev, he presses it firmly against Ben’s thigh and sighs in relief. Ben’s hand comes out to cup at him. 

“You find it?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie says, hissing when Ben’s finger gets curious around his opening. It’s sliding deep between his ass cheeks, back over his balls, then wrapping around his dick like Ben wants to touch all of him at once. 

“Still want me to open you up?” Ben’s eyes are asking, his cheeks still heated, Bev’s head bobbing more intensely in his lap as the seconds pass. The sounds are wet and languid, his dick slipping through the circle of her mouth easily. Richie can’t wait for that to be his ass. 

He hands Ben the lube. “Fuck yes.” 

They fall back into their routine rather nicely: Ben adding fingers to stretch out Richie’s hole, Bev keeping Ben at a happy, contented state of erection, and Richie watching on in absolute awe. He considers jerking himself off but he knows the situation is far too precarious. He’s not pulling a Stan tonight. He wants Ben’s dick like nobody’s business, especially when Bev pulls off to take a breath and starts pumping it through her fist instead. 

“Richie, come here,” Bev says, like lightning through Richie’s whole body. Ben scoots up a bit so he can brace his legs, and Bev’s hand finds Richie’s bare hip to help guide him down. “Get comfortable.” 

She flicks her fingers forward to beckon. 

“I was planning on it.” Richie faces the screen again. When he reaches back to guide Ben’s dick into his hole, he finds Bev’s hand already there. “Shit, Bev-”

“Hush, it’s mine, I’m helping.” 

“I’m not, it’s not _bad_ , I just-” Richie’s laughing as it breaches him, as all the air is sucked from his lungs, “oh, _oh_ , go slow.” 

He’s had fingers in him, his, Mike’s, and then his again, since Derry, but this is a whole new ballgame. This is a whole, entire dick. And it is slow fucking going. Or slow-going fucking, whatever, Richie’s every last brain cell is wrapped up in the way Ben’s thick, hot cock is pressing inside him, dripping wet from the lube, completely unsheathed and raw. He finally makes it there, an admirable slide, if he does say so himself, when he feels a finger toy with the stretch of his rim. 

“Ben, look at him,” Bev says from behind him, muffled and low, “look at how well he’s taking you, baby.” 

“ _Rich_ ,” Ben agrees with a moan, just as he bottoms out. His hands are slick and sticky, glued to Richie’s hips to guide him, fingers pressing bruises into his skin and Richie could swear it’s the only thing keeping him on the ground. On the… truck. On the… whatever the fuck, he’s fucking _losing_ it, fucking losing his mind over the tight heat of Ben inside him, of anything inside him, and he wants to cry with it as much as he wants to start moving. He chances a quick squirm of his hips when he feels a third hand join the fray.

“Don’t move, Richie,” Bev whispers. 

“Don’t-”

“Don’t _move_.” Ben groans somewhere in there. He practically pulses inside. Richie’s dick is dripping. “You’re gonna stay there for the rest of the movie.” 

Oh what the f-

“Bev, _please_ ,” Ben whines for him, whines for both of them, because seriously, what the fuck. Bev clicks what Richie assumes is her tongue - he’s far too distracted by the aching dick in his ass that _allegedly_ isn’t allowed to fuck the shit out of him like he wants. 

“You heard me, Ben,” she snaps. Richie’s breath catches. He almost sits up straight.

“Okay,” Ben answers, quiet. They clearly have this down pat. Richie’s so proud of them - it hasn’t been that long since Derry and they’re already a full 10/10 in the bedroom. Leave it to Beverly Marsh to set her mind to something and follow through. And god, is Richie glad that something is Ben. There’s only one dick he wants to ride more than Ben’s, and that one is, decidedly, off-limits. 

But thinking about Eddie right now (a-fucking- _gain_ ) is not going to help him here. It’s literally never going to help him. Eddie’s dick is off-limits. Eddie is off-limits. Why does he fucking _do_ this to himself??

Richie tries to stop the spiral, sitting on Ben’s dick, feeling it shift slightly inside him as they continue watching the movie, but the circuits in his brain reroute too slow to catch up with his panic. As the minutes creep on, ten, then twenty, Bev slipping a finger against him to keep things wet every once in a while, Richie starts to lose the battle. His chest feels tight, the ever expanding balloon of his emotions pressing and pressing at him until he takes a single gasping breath into the night air.

There’s a creak behind him. Bev’s hand finds his shoulder. The solid feel of it grounds him. 

“Richie?” She’s still toning at a whisper, but Richie can tell she’s concerned. The spinny-headed gentleman seems to be minding his business but no one can be too careful. 

“I’m-”

“You okay?” 

It occurs to Richie that maybe she’s whispering to keep Ben out of the loop, and it pangs his heart so hard he hiccups out another gasp. 

“I’m, _fuck_ , I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s so good-”

She sighs. She runs her hand softly down Richie’s bare arm. “It’s Eddie.” 

Richie sucks in a strong breath. Ben’s hands dance over his hips. Bev leans back to press loud, sucking kisses to his mouth before sitting back up with Richie. 

“We can stop,” she says, easy, and Richie knows it would be, but he so, _so_ doesn’t want that, so he shakes his head, and she nods in a fluid motion, like she was expecting it. Richie finally turns his eyes from the screen, his fuzzy safe haven of fiction, away from the reality of what he’s been doing with his friends, what he wants from his life other than the satisfaction of pleasing the people he loves while they please him, knowing all along what he truly needs. He turns and looks at Bev. 

Her teeth are shining white against the dark, crooking in shadow under her lips when Richie twists his body to lean toward her. They kiss gently, her hand coming up to cup at his cheek, holding him through it. It feels like comfort more than passion. A friendly confirmation of love, of support, an acknowledgment of his pain in a way that sets Richie’s body alight.

He calms under the flames. She smiles into him. 

“Picture Eddie here,” she says then, into his ear, shivering through Richie’s body like a current. “Picture him alongside Ben. Pressed into you.”

Richie rocks forward, wracked with pleasure at the thought. 

“It’d be so tight, Richie, so hot for you,” she breathes, damp in the cool of the air, “it’d barely fit but you could do it. You could take them.”

Richie nods, sure of it. Sure he could do that for them.

“You love them,” she says, and he’s crying again, small tears tracking down his cheeks before Bev knocks them away with a soft thumb. “I know you love him, it’s okay.” 

“Fuck,” is all Richie can say to that. It’s so fucking true he could burst. 

“Ben? Sweetie?” 

Ben grunts. Richie twists to glimpse him over his own shoulder and sees a blissed out, spread-eagled man formerly known as Ben Hanscom awaiting the orders of one Beverly Marsh. 

“You can start to move, darling,” she says, and Richie groans, “I think he needs it, baby.” 

“Ben,” Richie whispers in askance. It’s like Bev knows better than he knows himself. Ben’s hips press up into him, shaky, then stronger, bouncing gently until Richie starts to move back. He tries to emulate bucking on a bronco: a sweet, submissive bronco who’s really being controlled by his sexy, red-headed keeper, but he’s a forty year old man who just crawled on the ground to get lube because the bronco said he should, and the whole analogy falls apart once Ben really sets to it. 

Richie’s loved keeping Ben’s cock warm for him during the movie, but the actual fucking is clearly the main show. This is what Ben paid for, after all, and Bev is appropriately slinking back into her corner to watch it unfold before her eyes. Ben sits up to drape himself over Richie’s back, laying kisses against his neck, spine, shoulders, until Richie turns his head so their lips can meet. It’s Ben’s tongue first, wet and searching, and Richie moans into it. Ben’s cock finds a good spot inside just as he hears the squeaky sound of Bev’s straw behind them. 

“You two are quite the sight,” she says, sucking more of her drink. “Are you gonna come inside him, Ben?” 

“Fuck, fuck, _please_ ,” Richie begs. He’s far beyond caring. He’s so far beyond anything but the hot, deep press of Ben’s cock inside of him. 

“Yeah,” Ben breathes, ever the poet. 

“Really give it to him, look how bad he wants it,” Bev tells him. Ben’s thrusts speed up then, lifting them both off the stable bed of the truck. Richie wishes he could turn around and kiss Ben while he comes, or maybe at least hold him close, but he feels himself nearing the end and just wants it to keep _going_. 

“Ben, fuck me,” Richie says, lost in himself. Bev scoffs.

“You don’t tell him what to do, Richie.” 

“ _Fuck_ , Bev, I-”

“No,” she orders, knee-walking toward them again, straw posed in her hand. Richie can’t stop watching her, his head hanging but his eyes stuck on the streak of red hair coming closer. She pulls her straw from her drink, mouth still held tight around the end, and leans down between where Richie and Ben are grinding together.

“Bev, what-”

Richie hears the expulsion of liquid and feels the moisture fizz around his hole. 

“Did you just fucking _spit soda_ -”

“Jerk him off, baby, make him come,” Bev interrupts, ice cold, as the remnants of Diet Coke dribble down Ben’s dick. 

“You are so fucking _weird_ ,” Richie groans, Ben’s hand on his dick, wrapped completely around him, inside him, fucking him so well, holding him tight around the hips, pressing deep inside and lighting him up. 

“Oh baby,” Richie hears from Bev, then Ben is groaning, whining, pressing up into him _harder_ , and he realizes he’s coming inside him.

“Give it to me,” Richie says too late. He can feel it. The throbbing and clinging of Ben’s body to his. He can barely process it before Bev is shoving at his shoulder. “What?” he moans, so fucking ready to come himself that it’s almost a nuisance. 

“Slide back, let him eat you out,” she says, like she’s turning to the next page in a story, like they all knew how this would end, but then he _hears_ her. 

“You-”

“He loves to eat his own come out, don’t you baby?” Bev says. 

Richie’s brain breaks. He clenches his hand down _hard_ around the base of his dick. Is he supposed to come?

“Can I come?” Richie whines. It’s probably something he should ask out loud. He’s not included in their psychic round of dirty thoughts. 

Bev eyes him. “After you sit on his face.” 

Richie moans, then winces, then presses his knees down to the metal and moves his body back into Ben’s waiting hands. Ben spreads his cheeks, ready for it, even fresh off his own orgasm. 

“This is fucking _wild_ shit- _ho_ my god,” Richie whimpers as Ben gets _to it_ , mouthing into his asshole as soon as it’s close enough. His tongue licks circles around the rim first, swollen from the pounding, and then dips inside to taste himself. 

“Yeah,” Bev sighs, a sated monster who just needed to end the night the right way. Richie jerks himself hard and fast through the circle of his fingers, paying special attention to the head. Ben’s mouth opens wider, tongue pointing strong and inside until Richie feels licked clean. Richie feels Ben’s moan vibrate up his spine. 

“I’m coming,” Richie says fast, already in the middle of it, coating his own hand with come and leaning more of his weight onto Ben’s face in the process. But Ben is strong. He holds him up, gathers his grip around Richie’s thighs and bounces him there best he can until Richie is through his orgasm. 

When Richie looks to the screen again, the credits are rolling, dozens of names blurring past him in blocked white. There’s a car already leaving, and Richie wonders if anyone will take the route right in front of them to get out. He couldn’t be fucking bothered to move right now if he tried, so he supposes if they do, they’ll get quite the eyeful. 

Richie leans forward, swinging his shaking legs around so he’s not hovering over Ben anymore. When he’s finally stable enough to turn around, hands sticky and sore, he sees Ben’s red, wet lips and wants to lick him clean. But Bev is watching him again. 

“I didn’t tell you to come.” She smiles, her straw back in her drink. “But I think we can all agree that was a good time, so I guess you’ll have to owe me one.” 

Richie’s still trying to catch his breath, his legs jelly, his chest loose, his _asshole_ even looser, and Ben’s spit caked over at least four different places on his body. It’s ridiculous. It’s all about as surreal as the clown and the cavern and the fact that bullying a supernatural entity actually fucking _worked_. Richie has been through some serious _shit_ in life, shit that defies all the odds, shit that he can’t explain to another living soul other than his little band of losers. But now he’s on the other side of it - on the other side of feeling. Flying so high in his joy and pleasure that it’s like whiplash. 

So he laughs. He laughs and laughs and laughs until his stomach hurts and Bev and Ben and probably strangers crowding around their truck to watch the show are staring at him with some mix of pity and what must be disgust. So he keeps laughing. 

Ben reaches out a hand, snapped out of his sex haze and finally clear-headed. But still nude. 

“Are you-”

“I’m fine,” Richie cuts him off, because he’s sick of answering that fucking question, and sick of being _asked it_ in the first place, “I’m fucking fine, Ben.” 

“You’re not fine.” Bev crosses her arms over her chest. She’s finally set down her drink, so this must be serious. Richie keeps cackling, even as he feels the tears collect in his eyelids, the tender pressing of what he knows will be sobs. 

Richie keeps telling them he’s not ready, he’s not ready to talk about it, he’s not ready to admit it, he’s barely even ready to hear Eddie’s name now that they’re not together. But what is he fucking waiting for?

“No, I’m not fucking fine but I don’t know how to explain it,” he gasps, the tears finally leaving him in a heap, “I don’t know how to tell Eddie that I fucking love him without knowing it’ll end everything. Instead I’m bouncing between all of my closest friends in the world like fucking harbors in the goddamn storm of my life, right? I don’t know how I can be so loved and so fucking lonely.” 

The words feel dry and cracked in his mouth. 

“He’s in my head no matter what I’m doing. No matter who I’m with. And that’s not fucking fair to you, or to Stan, or to Mike, and it’s not fair to Eddie, either, ‘cause he has no idea what I’m- what I want to-”

“Richie,” Ben says again, this time softer, leaning toward him in what seems like offerance of a hug, but Richie shrugs away. Ben doesn’t let it stop him. Doesn’t let it sour his voice. “There’s nothing wrong with how you feel for Eddie, you know that, right?” 

Richie coughs out a wet laugh. It should be an easy answer, but the more it sinks in, the more he realizes it’s what he believes. He still thinks there’s something wrong with this. Something shredding him up inside.

“And you’re not taking anything away from what we just did, Rich,” Ben continues, “I’m sorry if it wasn’t what you wanted. I know we didn’t discuss-”

“No, no, I was- I’ve done it, uh,” Richie says, wiping at his face, “I’ve been with. Stan. And Mike. Also. I told Beverly,” Richie points to her. When Ben turns around, she shrugs.

“You didn’t explicitly say-”

“What the fuck, dude, I wasn’t exactly _subtle_ ,” Richie says. Ben shakes his head.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter,” he says, locking their eyes, and Richie feels it like a warm blanket around his entire (still naked) body. “We all love you. And Eddie loves you, too.”

Richie can’t stop the eye roll. Ben presses a hand under his chin to bring him back. Richie wants to kiss him again.

“Eddie _loves_ you. Even if it’s not in the way you love him. But we all love you,” he says, looking back at Bev, “and we trust you. We want you in our lives. I can’t speak for anyone else, but… that’s why we did this. Why we wanted this.” 

“But for what it’s worth,” Bev says, pressing her lips together, “I think you should talk to Eddie.” 

Richie sucks in some air, lets it spread through his lungs. He manages a small nod. It’s really all he’s committed to giving right now. Talking sounds scary. Admitting sounds scary, too, and he’s not… he doesn’t know what he is _._

The three of them stare out into the night for some silent minutes. Richie and Ben dress carefully, slowly. Bev presses kisses to Ben’s chest when they catch each other’s eye. 

Before they climb out of the bed, Ben turns to Richie. 

“Stan? Really?”

Bev smacks at him. “Mind your business, honey.” 

Richie shrugs and nods at Ben behind her back. Ben’s face zones out again, just a little. Richie sniffs.

“I love you guys.” The words claw from his throat like some sort of trouble, as opposed to the truest thing he’s felt in awhile. 

“We love you too, man,” Ben answers quickly.

Richie will take it. In the absence of anything else, he’ll take their love under the bright hanging of the stars in the sky any day. 

* * *

Richie’s phone is an asshole. 

He’s halfway to the airport, the _international gate_ , when it lights up with Eddie’s picture. It’s from Eddie’s stay in the hospital, when he was feeling well enough to complain at Richie for taking it but not well enough to actually fake a smile. His frown is more down-turned than normal, his lips absolutely invisible, clad in a hospital gown, facial hair patched all over his face. 

He looks hot. 

Richie loves him. 

His thumb hovers over the red button.

This isn’t the first time Eddie’s called him this week; it’s the fourth. Before, Richie was able to excuse it via text:

 _I’m at Ben and Bev’s!_ , or

 _I’m working on some material!_ , or

_Sorry brb Bev just propositioned me into a threesome, my bad ttyl!_

Eddie’s dumb face shines up at him. Richie wonders how he would have reacted had that last text actually gone out. 

“Fuck.” He picks it up.

“What the fuck, dude, _now_ you finally pick up?” Eddie says as soon as his voice is on the other line. Richie’s heart sings. 

God, it’s been too long. They haven’t talked since their awkward bidding at Mike’s place. It’s mainly been group texts and the occasional video-game-related reference, followed by a text reaction, because those seem safer than accidentally typing something too sincere. 

Richie knows the important bits: The divorce is finalized. Eddie got a bigger place. Bill was the first one to visit. 

Eddie can get along just fine without Richie.

Okay, so that was one was more inferred than stated.

Still, Richie dodges the emotion and goes straight to the defensive. 

“A man can’t have a life?” 

“You can have a life, but that doesn’t mean you have to ignore me in the process. You think I don’t have a life?”

“Oh no, I’ve definitely seen the pics in the group chat, dude. Nice wallpaper.” 

Eddie huffs. “Your favorite color is coffee-stained white, I’m not going to listen to this bullshit.” 

Richie bites his lip a little too hard to keep from laughing.

“Okay, man, you called _me_ ,” he says. Eddie takes an uncomfortably long pause. Richie almost asks if he’s stopped breathing. 

“Right, uh,” Eddie starts, and his voice sounds close to _shaky_ , and Richie flashes back to that first week in the hospital when Eddie needed help drinking a simple cup of water, pressing carefully to his dry lips and tipping slowly while he shook out a gentle _thank you_ , and Richie did it, Richie would _keep_ doing it, “I got a new place, I guess you know that since you _are_ seeing the group chat messages, just not responding like a complete and utter dick.”

“I have things-”

“Fuck off with your _things_ ,” Eddie snaps. Richie shifts in his seat. He’s not going to get hard in this cab. He’s not going to let Eddie do that to him, just because he’s coming back from a trip where he was ordered around and consequently had one of the best orgasms of his life. 

“Go on,” he says, instead. 

Another pause.

“I’m having a fucking housewarming party,” Eddie says, and it’s such a hostile, Eddie-esque way to divulge information that Richie wants to wrap his arms around him, wants to be next to him again, and he didn’t realize how much he’d been keeping it out of his mind since crying in front of Bev. He’s been focused on the whole needing-to-talk thing. 

“Oh?”

Eddie makes a little _mmhmm_ noise that goes straight to Richie’s dick.

“I’m having a housewarming party because Bev told me it was ‘gauche’ or some ridiculous word _not to_ now that I have, you know, um, friends and stuff. So you’re invited.”

Richie’s stomach drops out. 

“I’m- I’m invited?” 

Another pause. They keep getting more pointed. 

“Why the fuck wouldn’t you be invited to my housewarming party?” 

Richie jerks his head back. He looks out the windows, like he’s going to find the answer hidden in the clouds. 

“I don’t know? I’m halfway across the country? We haven’t seen each other since you got out?”

“Got _out_?” Eddie hisses. Richie clenches his eyes and tries to brace himself. “I’ve _invited you_ here. You make it sound like I was in fucking prison.”

“Who cares if you were?” 

“Why the fuck are you being so weird right now?” Eddie shoots back. Richie grips at his thigh. They’re almost at the airport. He kind of wants to hang up, but he has no idea the sheer wrath he would incur, and not just from Eddie. If Bev got wind of it there would be hell to pay. And Richie’s unsure of how much of it would now have to do with his dick. 

“I didn’t- I’m not being weird,” he tries. Eddie sighs.

“Listen,” he starts, and it sounds more measured than Richie expects, “I know you’re staying with Bill next, okay? It’s- you don’t have to _stay_ here, if you don’t want to. I just thought it might be nice for all of us to get together if we can.” 

The thought of it shoots through Richie like a straight-to-the-vein hit of serotonin. All of his friends in one place again. He could cry with it. He could cry with how badly he wants to see Eddie. But he’s so fucking scared.

“When is it?” Richie asks. 

Eddie’s voice perks up. “A week from Saturday?” 

Richie bites hard on his tongue.

“Fuck, Eds, I’ve gotta meet with the HBO jokers that weekend.” 

Literally, this _morning_ , he told Harriet he’d take the meeting back home. He’s not exactly in a position to ask for a reschedule, considering he all but disappeared from the public eye other than his abrupt coming out and a few drunkenly shot-off tweets. Besides, Eddie’s new place is somewhere outside the city. There’s no way he’d be able to fly from LA to New York following an afternoon meeting and make it a worthwhile trip. He wants to throttle Stan for pushing him so hard to “re-engage professionally.” 

Eddie’s still quiet. 

This pause feels sad. Richie hates it more than the rest. 

“It was short notice, anyway,” Eddie says, clearly through his teeth, as well as something else. Richie knows him too well, even after all this time, and he’s swallowing down anger like the milkshake Richie made him chug in eighth grade to prove he wasn’t lactose intolerant. “Maybe you can Skype in from the hotel or something, I think Stan and Patty might have to do that, too, something about a big business meeting Stan has or something, um.”

“Eds-”

“No, I’ll let you go, you’ve got a huge flight ahead of you.” 

“Oh,” Richie says. They’re pulling up to the airport now, so he supposes he should hang up anyway. 

“Anyway. Um.” Eddie exhales heavily, and Richie thinks he might lay into him again. Or tell him to cancel his meeting. Beg him to come, to finally visit, to fucking _see_ him before he loses his chance forever. 

But instead he says, “Don’t drink the coffee or the tea on the plane, Rich, I’m serious, that shit is full of the same bacteria that-”

“I know, you texted me a link to all the academic papers on the danger of plane shit in beverages, please and thank you,” Richie says, trying his best not to end this call on a sour note. Like all the others. 

This is why he can’t visit Eddie. It’s not the timing or the flight or the meeting or even the fact that he’d spill all his feelings or seduce him with his magic dick that’s apparently irresistible, or maybe it’s all of those things put together. But at the end of the day, Richie would ruin it. 

Richie would ruin _this_. And even though _this_ is stilted conversations and things unsaid, forced goodbyes and holding out hope that one day he’ll be able to see Eddie’s face again without falling apart, it’s better than what he would have if pushed it too far. 

Nothing. 

“Have a good flight, Rich,” Eddie says, finally. 

“Yeah,” Richie says back, searching for that rising thing and coming up empty, “Have a good party, Eds.” 

Richie presses end and drops his phone. 

He glares at it on the seat next to him.

Asshole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will always thank my lovely GC, Andie, the server, and all my readers, thank you so much. The next three chapters will be out next weekend in quick succession, much like these. 
> 
> Please leave me a comment if you're able, and as always, find me on Tumblr at [tinyangryeddie](https://tinyangryeddie.tumblr.com/) or Twitter, where I'm [camerasparring](https://twitter.com/camerasparring)!


	4. Bill Denbrough and the Long Journey Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill Denbrough can never back down from a bet.
> 
> Richie doesn’t fault him for it - in the end, neither can he.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! I added some more tags but just as yet another disclaimer:
> 
> This fic has poly elements to it. Casual sex. Group sex. Please check the tags. If this makes you uncomfortable, I ain't judgin', but do both you and me a favor and click out. Thanks.
> 
> Chapter tags: Alcohol Use, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex (kind of), Dirty Talk, speak of Possessive Eddie, Bill/Richie, mentions of Eddie/Bill, Pillow Princess Bill Denbrough, swapping tales and one giant double-headed dildo.

Bill Denbrough can never back down from a bet.

Richie doesn’t fault him for it - in the end, neither can he. 

“I don’t know what to fucking _do_ , Rich,” Bill is slurring into his drink where they’re shoved into a corner of Richie’s new favorite bar in London. So what if he hasn’t been before? A favorite can establish itself right away. 

Richie swirls at his whiskey and misses Patty’s margaritas. 

He misses wine nights with Mike. 

He misses shitty beer and cola in the back of Ben and Bev’s new truck. 

He misses Stan and Patty and Mike and Bev and Ben and. God, he misses Eddie. He stares across the table at Bill and tries to appreciate it. Soon, he’ll be gone, too, and Richie can add him to the list of things to miss. People to miss. 

The most important people he’s ever known. 

No matter how he spins it, he has to go home after this trip. He’s in London until next Thursday, then a flight back to California and settling back into Beverly Hills while he preps for his meeting. It’s the last thing he wants to do, but he’s run out of friends. They don’t seem to be low on hospitality - they’ve kept him from the inevitable for more than a month at this point. And he knows there’s one more stop he could make, if he really wants. But he has a meeting, and responsibilities, and a _life_ , or at least some semblance of one that he should probably try to piece back together and see what he’s left with. 

He has to figure out who he is without these people in his daily life. Without looking up and seeing one of them smiling back at him. Or frowning, if you’re Bill. 

“Do about what?” Richie asks, because okay, yeah, he was a little zoned out. Appreciate, he tells himself. That includes listening. 

Then again, Bill’s been nonsensically rambling since finishing his first drink, and they’re well on their way to thirds, so Richie’s been lost for a long time. A man is bound to get bored. 

Bill glares at him over his glass. “My _feelings_ ,” he whines. Richie groans.

“No, no feelings, I have too many of those already, I don’t need yours.” 

“Rich, I need _help_.” Bill points his tilted glass at Richie. “You said you would help me.” 

Richie searches his memory. How long has he not been listening? “Me?” 

“Oh my god.” Bill thunks his head onto the sticky bar table. 

“Okay, okay,” Richie pulls Bill back up so they’re face to face. “I’m sorry, I’m a little distracted. I had a weird conversation on the way to the airport and now it’s running through my head on a fucking loop and I feel like I’m-”

Bill glares again. 

“Give it to me again,” Richie says, then catches himself, “the cliffnotes version. I like to be realistic about my attention span in my old age.” 

Bill sighs, swigs another drink and sets it down hard on the table between them, ignoring the chance to remind Richie his memory has been bad since forever. A little crease appears in his forehead. 

“I’m in love with someone,” Bill says, simply, and Richie groans again. 

Anger rolls freely through him, the whiskey greasing the wheel. 

“You cannot be coming to _me_ with this shit,” Richie says, almost out of his damn mind in disbelief, because, seriously- “What the fuck? Do I look like I can give you advice about that? Do I look like the kind of guy who’s been in any type of serious relationship? Do I look like someone who could walk up to the per- to the _man_ he loves and fucking confess? No! Okay?” 

“Richie-”

“No, dude, you don’t get it. If I had any advice, any inkling of what to do in your situation, I’d fucking tell you, okay? Actually, you know what? No.” Richie grips hard at the edge of the table, rocking back and forth, the motion soothing on his spinning brain. “Maybe I wouldn’t tell you, maybe I’d keep it for myself. Maybe I’d focus on it real hard or something, maybe I’d try to let it seep in through osmosis and I’d actually use it. So I could be good at something for once. So I could tell him how I feel and stop letting it eat me alive.”

“But that’s not me.” He stares into his emptying glass. “That’s never gonna be me, Big Bill.” 

“Richie,” Bill says again, pressing. Richie watches him. 

“You’re in love,” Richie says, and that’s somehow freeing, just saying it for someone else. Maybe he can actually bear to hold it, but not right now. Not right this second, not when Eddie’s invitation and disappointed reaction and dumb, helpful advice still ring in his ears.

Bill nods. “And I think maybe you are, too.” 

“Fuck,” Richie breathes out, clenching the glass in his hand, hard enough to break. “Is it really that obvious to everyone?” 

Bill laughs. “Don’t give me too much credit, you basically just told me.” 

Oh. Right. 

Richie hangs his head until Bill’s hand comes up to clap across his back. They’re cuddled together in their booth, knees knocking, pinkies brushing on their own legs. It feels comfortable. He’s gotten so used to touching his friends, it barely even registers anymore. It feels just as right with Bill as it did with everyone else. 

Richie breathes deeper and tries to relax into the dizzy buzz in his limbs. 

“You wanna talk about your shit instead?” Bill asks. “It’s not like I haven’t been stewing in this for months, Rich, I can definitely change gears.” 

Richie shakes his head. Then he shakes it again. He needs to stop fucking avoiding this. And Bill’s in the same spot. Or similar. Again, he wasn’t really listening. 

“We can probably help each other,” Richie tells him. Bill shifts a little closer, until calves slot together under the table. 

“You first or me?” Bill asks. 

Richie points at him. Always the first, as they say. Bill just laughs. 

“It’s Mike,” he says.

Richie’s brain spins out like a car wheeling around a curve too fast. 

When he really thinks about it, which is, admittedly, a little difficult under the haze of so much alcohol, he probably should have seen this coming. Bill’s going through a crisis, they all just reconnected after millions of years, and he’s been commiserating with Eddie in the group chat quite a bit these days after announcing his own divorce. 

But _Mike_? 

Mike, who Richie knows is into someone else. Mike, who was lonely and sad and really fucking _horny_. Mike, who didn’t want to say someone else’s name in bed. 

“You’re in love with Mike,” Richie repeats, just to get his facts completely straight. Bill smiles, wide and a little self-deprecating, shy and a little annoyingly beautiful, which Richie has always kind of thought but this just proves it. The bar is dark and cozy. Bill smells like whiskey fumes and musty cologne. He’s pressed in close and laughing. They’re spilling secrets now. There’s no turning back from this.

“Bill, I fucked Mike,” he says. 

Bill’s smile drops off his face almost comically. He sits back against the corner of the booth, then moves forward, then back, and then Richie loses count of how many times he loops back and forth. First he starts laughing, high and hysterical, and then Richie thinks maybe he’s crying, but when no tears show after a few minutes Richie just starts to get irritated. 

“So we’re both in love with Mike,” Bill says, like it’s some sort of statement of fact, and then it’s Richie’s turn to laugh. Or cry. Is he crying? 

“No, no, no, god, _no_ ,” Richie says, gasping with it, “I’m not in love with Mike, although, honestly, good choice, man.” 

Bill blinks. “Thanks?” 

“I’m in love with Eddie,” Richie says easy, slipping from his heart, his gut, his mouth, from everything he’s built up over months and years and decades. His whole life. Whittled down to one simple phrase. 

Bill’s silent. Frozen. Richie goes cold. 

“I, R-R-Rich,” Bill stutters out, pressing thumbs into his eyes. 

“You what?” 

“Richie,” Bill repeats. Richie almost grabs him by the collar of his fucking flannel shirt. Such a goddamn writer and yet somehow he still looks like he belongs in the woods. 

“Bill,” Richie says back instead. Bill takes a breath, frowning at his empty glass. 

“I slept with Eddie,” he says, staring at the table. 

Richie’s hands go numb. 

“You what,” he says again, familiar and stinging in his mouth. His tongue is dry from the whiskey and his thigh is burning against Bill’s and he keeps hearing the words _I slept with Eddie I slept with Eddie I slept with Eddie_ like a spiteful record skipping in his head. 

“Listen, Rich-”

“No, no, tell me again, can you just say that again real quick? It must be my brain re-attuning to the British accent,” Richie says, a bleak numbness moving up into his arms, cold and spreading through him as Bill looks stricken and confused.

“I don’t have a f-fucking accent.” 

“My mistake,” Richie breathes, vomit swirling up into his throat, salivating at the back of his throat. 

Eddie slept with Bill. Bill. Slept with Eddie. Eddie Kaspbrak. Richie’s… Richie’s Eddie.

But he’s _not_ Richie’s Eddie. Richie can’t fucking handle this. He starts pulling himself out of his seat in a rush, sick to his goddamn stomach, suffocating in thoughts, when Bill’s hand wraps fast around his wrist.

“Richie, please don’t leave, let me explain,” he says desperately. Richie turns to look at him, plopping his ass back down against their booth. The wrenching nausea subsides when he sees the shattered look on Bill’s face. 

“You really fucked _Eddie_?” 

Bill’s face crumples further. He looks to his empty glass, face shadowed in the dark bar. “It just sort of happened.” 

“How does- okay. Wait,” Richie says, measuring himself, squaring his shoulders, “Okay, I think I know how that happens, actually.” 

Bill nods. “Mike?” Richie nods back.

“Mike.” 

“So you get it, right?” Bill asks, reaching a hand out, groveling, “You get how nice it is to be close to someone that just-” Bill waves a hand, “ _Gets_ all this?” 

Bill’s eyes grasp for something in Richie’s, asking him to calm, to understand where he’s coming from, and Richie does. He does more than most, though he’s slowly coming to the conclusion that it’s a seven-way tie. Maybe eight, if you count the perfect Patricia. It’s just… Eddie. 

Eddie, who has invited Richie to visit _twice_ now. And for what? For what he gave Bill? Eddie was clearly looking for the same kind of connection and trust and found it in Bill. It’s not necessarily jealousy flowing through Richie’s veins. How can it be, when he’s fucked his way through their friends? He can’t possibly blame Eddie for achieving a fraction of the same thing. 

But… is it the same? Is it the same exact thing? 

Richie’s spent the better part of a few months rifling through his friends - but what if Eddie is doing the same thing? He hasn’t managed deeper talks than a few “how ya doing in your new digs” and “don’t act like a stranger” dalliances with his other friends while staying in new places, so maybe Eddie is making his way through the group just the same, and Bill is the first one that told him. What if it’s the clown giving them some sort of fucked-up sex powers? Are they the human equivalents of sirens now? 

Richie presses hand to his forehead and it comes away damp. Maybe that’s going a little too far. But it’s the only explanation for why Eddie would be sleeping with men and not fucking _tell_ Richie. 

Okay, maybe not the _only_ explanation. He wets his lips and looks to the bar. 

“I’m gonna give myself a second to let this all settle while you get us another round,” Richie tells him, and Bill’s eyes light up.

“Deal.” 

Two more whiskey’s later, Richie is feeling much more reasonable, and much more ready to divulge information. As long as he gets as good as he gives. Bill gladly meets his end of the bargain, and Richie sourly tries not to think of how perfect that makes him for Mike. 

“We’d been walking around New York for ages looking at places, talking about our divorces, and loneliness and like, fuckin’ _trauma_ and all that big shit and then-” Bill balls his fists together and releases it in a mock explosion. Richie squints.

“It was the bomb?” 

Bill laughs, shaking his head. “It was fine.” Richie rears back.

“ _Fine_??” 

“Okay, it was good,” Bill says, then his eyes glaze over. Richie almost smacks him out of his memories. Of _fucking Eddie_. “He was _good_.” 

Richie does smack him then, hand to his shoulder. “Fuck you, man, I could talk circles about Mike’s perfect dick but I’m a _lady_.” 

Bill holds up his hands in surrender. “I’m not trying to gossip! I was just… remembering.” 

His eyes fade into the distance again.

“Oh my god,” Richie says, landing his head against the table. The world spins when he shuts his eyes, so he slams them back open as soon as he can. He’s not in the mood to puke tonight. He’s already dodged that bullet once, and he knows from experience how unpleasant whiskey is coming back up. 

“Wait,” Bill stops, drunk and slow. Richie groans. “Mike has a perfect dick?” 

Richie can’t just _not_ answer. “Of course, Billiam, have you fucking _seen_ Mike?”

Bill glares at him, the whites of his eyes gone pink. 

“Okay, yes, you’ve clearly seen Mike. In love, okay, yes,” Richie says, finishing out his glass. He promises himself no more, and grabs at Bill’s empty tumbler to remove all temptation. Bill makes a bastardized attempt to snatch it back, but sags in defeat when he presumably realizes how hammered he is. 

Richie groans. He can’t stop groaning. His scalp tingles. He thinks of Eddie and fucking Clown magic.

“I just- I had no idea he was into guys,” Richie sighs, looking down at his smushed body in the booth, “Eddie, I mean.” 

“Yeah,” Bill agrees. “I was surprised, too.” He hiccups. “About Mike, I mean.” 

“Seems to be going around,” Richie says, poking a finger into Bill’s side. Bill squirms away with a laugh, and Richie heats. 

Richie bites at his lip as the puzzle pieces float through his mind. Two lonely men. Two unrequited crushes. Lots of alcohol. Plenty of money for a cab. A giant hotel on Bill’s fucking dime. If this is Clown magic, he might as well get the most he can out of it. And get a few stories while he’s at it. 

“So do you wanna, like, tell me more about what happened?” Richie asks, eyeing Bill’s twitching hands in his lap. 

“Is that a fucking pick up line?” 

Richie ducks his head and throws some of his cash on the table. “It is if you want it to be, Big Bill.” 

With that reaction, Richie expects Bill to laugh him off, and that would probably be fine. They could stumble home, have another beer on the couch, watch something on tv, maybe commiserate over their shared sexual foibles and discuss this soberly over brunch tomorrow. But instead, Bill’s face twists into something _interested_. 

“I think I just might,” he says, pulling out his phone to find them a ride home. 

When they finally burst into the hotel room, it’s more from the key getting stuck and less from any sort of passionate desperation to get each other into bed. Richie was feeling amped up in the bar, under Bill’s heavy gaze, but that gaze quickly became irritation at the tobacco smell in the cab and a sad sack Eeyore-frown as they climbed the stairs after glimpsing the “Lift Broken” sign. 

Bill drops his keys on the little table in the foyer and turns to Richie with an expression that can only read, _Eh?_

“I have to say, this is possibly the worst proposition I’ve gotten in a long time,” Richie says, peeling out of his sweat-clung jacket. Bill scrubs a hand over his face. 

“I’m sorry, Rich, I really thought I was up for this, but then I just started thinking about Mike, and-”

Richie presses a finger to Bill’s mouth. It sits there like a limp noodle.

“But isn’t that the point? _Talk_ about Mike,” Richie says, prodding at him, “I’ll tell you what you want to know about what we did and you do the same for me.” 

“Right,” Bill says, his face smoothing out, like he’s coming around. 

“Pathetic but practical because of the whole switcheroo we’ve found ourselves in.” 

Bill laughs. “What are friends for, right?” 

God, if only Bill knew how far that sentiment extended through Richie’s life. He grins.

“Right.” Richie hesitates. “Only if you are fully on board. I’m not having ‘love-sick over my childhood crush’ sex unless you’re into it.” 

“I’m into it,” Bill says, nodding. He starts to pull his shirt off, right there in the foyer. As soon as it’s off, he quirks a brow at Richie in question. “How long has it been for you?” 

Richie pulls off his shoes first. “Huh?” 

“With Eddie. You said childhood?” He looks to Richie, who nods. “How long have you been in love with him?” 

Richie’s ears thump loudly in his head. He makes a loud game-show buzzer noise almost involuntarily.

“That is far too maudlin, dear Bill, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask for your next question.” 

Bill rolls his eyes and pops the buttons on his jeans. His chest is evenly toned, not very muscled, but Richie doesn’t particularly mind, considering he looks about the same - just stretched out and broader. The whiskey is still poking through all of his senses, and it makes him emotional, just looking at one of his best friends, smiling, blushing, feeling comfortable. Even if that friend unknowingly banged the guy he’s in love with. At least they’re even. 

“Okay,” Bill hedges, crooking a finger to lead Richie to his bedroom, “so tell me about the kissing.” 

Richie sucks in some air. “Oh boy, oh boy, Billy boy, the kissing was-” Richie puckers his lips against his fingers and blows a kiss into the air. “Phenomenal.” 

Bill’s face goes all dizzy again. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” Richie growls, finally going for his own shirt. He tries not to take it personally when Bill hardly notices. Or neglects to help when it gets stuck around his ears. 

“Does he use a lot of tongue?” Richie hears him ask through fabric. He wrestles off the shirt and throws it on the ground. 

“ _Tongue_? What is this, middle school?” 

“You’re kidding, right? Isn’t this _all_ kind of middle school?” 

Richie flashes with a memory of asking Bill exactly how it felt to ‘get frenched’ onstage when they were kids. “Point taken.” 

“So?”

“He uses a lot of tongue,” Richie says, nodding, the memory of the slick drag pulling at his abdomen, “but in a nice way.” 

“Yeah,” Bill sighs, finally aiding in the struggle and moving to work Richie’s pants off. “Eddie’s a _really_ good kisser.”

Richie’s head spins at the admission. He imagines Eddie fondling him out of his pants instead of Bill, wet tongue pressing into his mouth, hands shaking with anticipation and excitement. Richie hardly knows what to do with himself at the thought. He lands on running fingers over Bill’s chest, soft skin grounding him. 

“Does he-” A lump catches in Richie’s throat. The point. That’s the point, Tozier. Questions. “Does Eddie take- take control, or did he-”

“Oh yeah,” Bill answers without a thought. 

Richie feels himself hardening in his pants, now gaping open to the air. Bill chooses that moment to ghost a hand over his crotch and feel it for himself. 

“He was all,” Bill waves his free hand between them, searching for a word, “Commandeering.” 

“Oh my god,” Richie swears, thrusting up into Bill’s touch. Eddie’s _dominant._ “You’re such a fucking writer.”

“Mike was, too, a little bit,” Richie tells him, rerouting to thoughts of Mike instead. Bill’s eyes roll back in his head. Richie takes the pause as an opportunity to pull Bill fully into the bedroom, settling them both on the edge of the bed. “We both sucked each other’s dicks.” 

“What the fuck, Rich, holy _shit_.” Bill flops back onto the bed, arms spread above his head, breathing heavy in his chest. Richie watches him in sympathy.

“Get this,” Richie says, and Bill pops back up. “We sixty-nined.” 

Bill resumes his previous position. Richie chuckles to himself. He didn’t realize how fun it would be to finally tell someone these things. Sexy, sure, but it’s almost nice to just let someone… know. He is still hard, though. And he definitely wants to hear more about Eddie. 

“What did you guys do?” he asks, digging into his boxers to grip at himself. He’s a little wet already, visions of Eddie taking what he wants crowding his head. 

Bill’s thrown an arm over his eyes, like a Victorian maiden. 

“We fucked,” he mumbles, then sits back up, eyes wide. “Oh shit, that reminds me.” 

Bill gets off the bed and walks into the bathroom, rifling around in drawers for a few minutes while Richie contemplates that. Every new level of this hits him like a metal glove to the face. What was he imagining they did? Jerk each other off while barely touching? Kiss gently with tongue while Eddie pushed Bill around a little bit? 

Licked each other all over? Maybe Eddie turned Bill over and pressed his tongue deep inside, like Ben did in the back of that truck? Richie hisses, stroking himself a little faster. 

Great, now he’s thinking of three people at once. 

He thinks of the way Bev controlled him in the back of that truck: telling him what to do, making him squirm while she took over, and getting both Richie and Ben off without so much as taking off her clothes. Richie can’t even fathom how hot Eddie would be doing the same thing. Pushing Richie onto the bed and holding him down, maybe smacking his ass, or with a hand around his throat-

He shakes the thought from his head. Not until he talks to Eddie for real. 

And even then, not- not _ever_. Probably. 

_Probably_. He did fuck Bill. But Bill-

Bill appears with a bottle of lube, so Richie stands to Oliver his way into his own helping. 

They smile at each other, face to face, next to the bed, palms full of lube. 

“This is gonna be fucking _great_ ,” Richie says, mostly to himself, but Bill nods along, going about some sort of business while Richie reaches back to prod at his own hole to ready it. 

“Fuck yeah,” Bill says under his breath. They grin at each other, playing off each other, enthusiasm growing right alongside Richie’s jealousy-friendship boner. It’s been a year of firsts, but this is definitely one for the record books. 

“Mike put his fingers in me like a fuckin’ pro while he sucked me off,” Richie says, suddenly remembering, and Bill’s head drops back with a moan. 

“That’s so fucking hot,” Bill says. His throat works at something while his hand keeps bobbing. “Eddie made me get myself ready.” 

Richie’s hand stops. It’s then that he realizes he has no idea what’s taking Bill so long when he’s supposed to be lubing up his dick. Richie looks down to see Bill mirroring his movements: reaching back to open himself up to get fucked. And then Richie realizes they _really_ did not plan this well.

“Bill,” Richie says, struck pale and dumb, alcohol buzzing through all his limbs, thumb literally up his own ass, “are we both prepping to bottom right now?” 

Bill looks down, and Richie would laugh at their parallel paths in life if it weren’t so fucking pathetic. 

“Jesus,” Bill swears, pulling his hand out of himself. 

“Yeah.”

“Well how was I supposed to know?” Bill asks, gesturing up and down, over the entirety of Richie’s body. Richie throws his hands up in the air.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

Bill presses his hands to his hips. “I don’t _know_!”

“Are we seriously making assumptions about-”

“Okay, don’t make this a whole thing about how homophobic I am, I’m in love with _Mike_.” 

Richie scoffs. “Oh yeah, you’re totally free and clear from that because you want to _fuck a guy_ , numbnuts.” 

Bill’s stare hardens. Richie dick softens. 

“I don’t just want to, _ugh_.” Bill shakes out his arms, shoves his hand over his eyes, while the other wraps back around his dick, “I don’t want to get into this right now, can we just deal with the situation at hand?”

Richie grins, the easy joke slackening his jaw. “At-”

“Don’t even say it,” Bill scolds. Then his eyes light up. “Hold that thought,” he says before he’s once again out of the room. 

The stretch of this hotel is ridiculous. There’s multiple rooms, a kitchen, and a whole second bedroom, which Richie didn’t think was possible. He’s stayed in his fair share of swanky places, but apparently what constitutes as swanky to Richie is but a pittance to Bill. When a man is most of the way through his divorce and living in a foreign country until his royalties run out, apparently a little class really brightens the mood.

Bill’s gone for almost a full minute before returning, clutching a long, jiggly double-headed dildo in his hand. 

Richie’s seen plenty of those before: he has, after all, watched porn. It’s certainly a buzzword in his search history; in retrospect, he’s been all about the dick-in-ass action in theory, but never put it into practice until just recently. With dear Benjamin. And goddamn, what a way to finally achieve your bottom awakening. Only Richie Tozier could be so lucky. 

So the prospect of Bill Denbrough, naked and panting, offering a blue, shimmery, double-headed dildo is, to say the least, a bit of a disappointment. It’s not like Richie would take one look at Bill and think “oh hell yeah, that guy definitely _fucks_ ,” but a man can hope.

Actually, scratch that. He didn’t really consider it at all. He was a little preoccupied with the whole “Eddie and Bill” situation. 

“So?” Bill asks, shaking the monstrous thing in his palm so it flings from side to side. Richie sighs. 

“Do I really have a choice?” 

Bill deflates, the dildo falling to his side. Richie softens. Metaphorically speaking this time.

“I’m kidding, bring that thing over here, big guy.” 

Bill’s face perks up a bit again at that. He walks over to Richie and holds the thing between them, offering it to Richie like he has some sort of plan. 

“It’s _yours_ , why do you think I know what I’m doing?” 

Bill frowns. “You’re- I mean, you’re _gay_ , I kind of figured you knew how to use it.” 

Richie literally cannot believe this shit. All he wanted was a filthy recounting of Eddie’s fucking mastery and instead he gets this: a tragically straight dude who has absolutely no idea how to use a sex toy he presumably bought himself. 

All along, he’d presumed Eddie to be the straight one. Or one of them, perhaps. But those stats have flown clear out the window. And, lo and behold, the universe is smiling down upon him, if only he can get one Mr. Bill Denbrough to focus and start story-telling.

Summoning all the patience left in his body, Richie reaches out to grab the dildo. It’s a little heavier than he expected, firm and solid in his hand, and he wonders how the size compares to Eddie. Fuck, he’d love to get his hand around a hard, straining Eddie. Maybe he’d even get wet - _fuck_ , if he gets wet-

“I got the thing as a gag gift after the divorce.” Bill tells him, still eyeing it. “Some of the guys at the studio after they wrapped the movie.”

Both of them stare at it while they contemplate that.

“I have no idea what kind of joke they were trying to make,” Bill finally says.

“That you should go fuck yourself?” Richie offers. Bill glares as Richie smiles. 

“So how should we do this?” 

Richie squints and tries to imagine the best way to go about this. Lying on their backs seems comfortable, but he’s not sure how they would move freely. Standing would give them more control, but they’d have to bend over, and Richie’s back would not forgive him tomorrow. He flings over memories of the Kama Sutra and all the porn he’s ever seen in his life before he lands on a particularly interesting option.

“Get on all fours,” Richie says, pointing at the bed. Bill raises an eyebrow and huffs a laugh, his eyes going dark. 

“Sounds familiar.” 

Richie blinks. “Eddie… fucked you from behind?” 

Bill shrugs, kneeling onto the bed. The mattress gives under his weight, the ornamental headboard framing his naked body. Richie imagines Eddie’s hands on those bony hips, holding tight and pushing in, gasping when he finally bottoms out. 

Richie looks down at the dildo. He’s going to lose it once this thing is finally in him. 

Making his way over to the bed, head swimming, he climbs on and faces away from Bill. 

“Back to back, ass to ass, alright?” He says, craning over his shoulder to make sure Bill nods along. When he does, Richie pours out some more lube to spread over one of the heads before deciding to be a fucking gentleman and do the work for the both of them. It’s slippery when he’s done, but he’s really not in the mood for the flexible acrobatics it would take to slick it up when it’s already inside him. 

Bill’s leaned down onto his elbows, head hanging into the mattress. The points of his shoulder blades push up into the sky. Richie taps at his hip. 

“You ready?” 

Bill just moans. “Is Mike good with his mouth?” 

Richie wipes his slimy hand off on the expensive hotel sheets because, well, fuck Bill. His stomach twists when he realizes that’s punishing the cleaning staff more than Bill, so he decides to strip the sheets in the morning before he leaves, which is a really fucking _Eddie_ thing to do, and that drives up his frustration even more.

“We’ve been over this,” Richie sighs, “lots of tongue in a very good way, now do you want this thing in your ass or not?” 

Bill’s head lifts. His pupils are blown, but his lips are twisting unhappily. 

“I meant when he was- when you two were-” Bill makes a motion, his hand in front of his mouth, thrusting, but he doesn’t even pop his tongue into the side of his cheek, and Richie feels ashamed that he ever considered this man his best friend. 

“Yes, he sucks cock with the best of them,” Richie says. “It feels like I’m giving you way more than you’re giving me here, man, especially since you’re also sitting there apparently waiting for me to fuck you with this thing.” 

Bill’s eyes bug. “Is that not what you’re going to-”

“Oh my fucking _god_ , Bill, _communicate_!” 

“I’m sorry!” 

“You don’t look sorry,” Richie yells, then steels himself. “Just help me out a little here. And tell me more about Eddie, man, I’m sick of asking like a desperate-”

“He seemed like he really needed it,” Bill interrupts, a breathy sigh, and Richie stalls with the lubed up dildo in his hand, pressed to the rim of Bill’s hole. “He had this look in his eye - this dark look, like, he wanted to fuck me through the mattress.” Bill smirks back at him. “And then he did.” 

“ _Fuuuuuck_.” Richie pushes forward, slipping the toy past the tightest ring of Bill’s hole, finding that it rests rather easily inside once inserted. Richie clambers around to fit his side in while Bill bends back over, pressing his head to the mattress and bellowing a groan. 

“Rich, fuck, fuck, fuck me with it.”

“I’m- _shit_ , I’m gonna,” Richie says in a frustrated huff, lining himself up and backing on gently, “I don’t know why I’m surprised that Bill Denbrough is a fucking pillow princess.” 

“That’s, _ngh_ -” Bill hisses when Richie finally meets him halfway, so to speak, down on all fours, “That’s offensive.”

“Well you can sue me for discrimination after we both get our rocks off.” 

Richie bears down, clenching fists in the gathered up bedspread at the foot. It’s a different angle than he’s used to - but it’s good. It’s _really_ good. The slow slide is a little maddening, and when he leans all the way back he collides with the soft skin of Bill’s ass. He pumps his hips faster, pretending it’s an actual cock, pretending there’s someone back there really giving it to him, gripping his hips and pistoning forward, really wanting to fuck him into oblivion.

Maybe it’s the alcohol, or the livid frustration flowing through his veins, but he takes it quick straight out of the gate. Ben was so gentle, and he waited so long, through more than half of an entire movie before he could finally move. There was no way he wasn’t ready by that point. But now - there’s a burn. A stretch that he revels in almost as much as the thought that Eddie might give it to him this way. Might not wait until he’s ready: maybe he would just bend him over and push inside, stretch him open and fuck him, sensitive and whining and drooling into the pillow. 

Richie bounces back onto the dildo, clenches around it and moans. 

Or maybe he would have to do all the work. Eddie would sit back and watch Richie impale himself, let him fall onto Eddie’s thighs and take pictures of his beautiful cock in Richie’s ass. Maybe he would grunt and grind and reach around to jerk Richie off for doing so well. 

“Did he make you come- oh _fuck_ , did Eddie make you come from fucking you?” Richie asks, pumping back and forth. Bill groans. 

“ _Yeah_ , yeah, he-”

They collide. “Did he jerk you off?”

“He didn’t even have to,” Bill says, thin and reedy, and Richie almost gives up altogether. He wants Eddie inside him so bad he can hardly breathe with it. 

“You came _untouched_ from his dick?” Richie asks, then looks back over his shoulder to see a motionless Bill rubbing hands through the hair on his head. “What the _fuck_ ,” Richie hisses, “are you even moving? I’m seriously about to kick you out of your own goddamn hotel room.”

“Rich,” Bill breathes, sounding fucked out, close to losing it, close to coming all over the sheets and leaving Richie hanging to take care of himself, although that’s not too far from what he’s doing right now, so Richie sighs and wraps a hand around his own dick. There’s no way Bill is lasting much longer. Time is of the essence. 

He’s way too good a friend. 

Richie shifts around on the bed so he’s got more leverage, then pushes himself upright so he can essentially ride the dildo in Bill’s ass. Bill takes it like a champ, body bowing further until Richie is humping back in solid waves. He’s almost sitting on Bill, but Bill seems to love it, moaning the faster he goes. Richie tries to goad him.

“C’mon, Billy, tell me how nicely he fucked you.” 

“I- I- Rich,” Bill says, finally throwing his hips back a couple times before flopping forward yet again, “it was so good, his hands were all- his hands were all over, I had-”

“What’d you have?” Richie focuses on the drag of the toy inside him. It nudges his prostate and he whines, a spurt of pre-come dripping onto his hand. Finally. Maybe he can actually fucking come tonight if he keeps it up. He fucks back faster, sweat collecting between them. 

“I had bruises on my hips for _days_ from where he held me,” Bill finally punches out. 

Richie’s cock jerks in his hand. “Oh fuck.” Maybe he spoke too soon. This might be over before he knows it.

“He just kept p-p-pounding me, god, his fucking dick was so good. It was so fucking big, _oh_ -”

Richie’s head spins. He fucks into his fist, then back into the toy, around and around until he can barely tell which way is up. It’s thick in him, heating up with the press of each of their bodies. As soon as it’s rocking out of him, it’s deeper in Bill. They trade moans as they keep up a brutal pace, now each humping desperately backward to chase the feeling. 

“Mike’s tasted amazing,” Richie says once he realizes he’s not pulling his own weight. So much for the fucking Trashmouth. 

“Yeah, tell me,” Bill huffs.

“He came all over my fucking face,” Richie says, twitching at the memory, his mouth watering at the thought of Eddie doing the same, of Eddie letting him have his come, “I licked it all off, and then he kissed me, tongued over my lips so he could taste himself.”

“Ssssshhhhit-” Bill moans in a crescendo, gathering steam and slamming his ass back into Richie’s, again and again, harder and harder, his hole greedy with the dildo and his arms shaking the whole bed under each of them. 

Richie holds steady, still pulling himself off, and he almost reaches back to slap Bill’s ass, because maybe that would help, and he wouldn’t mind one returned, but then Bill is falling forward, taking the entire toy with him. 

“ _Dude_ ,” Richie moans, left bereft in the wake of a creeping orgasm. “Don’t leave me hanging here.”

Bill pants out a few heavy breaths, coughing out some laughs to follow. He’s on his knees, face buried into the pillow, arms spread like he’s receiving a hug. Richie’s two seconds from getting _really_ angry, when he turns around to crawl over and rub a hand over Richie’s neck. 

“What do you need?” Bill asks, cheeks red, smile wide and pleased. 

Richie considers his leaking dick and his throbbing asshole. God, he wants to get fucked. He wants to get fucked by Eddie. He wants Eddie behind him, grabbing at his neck, kissing his spine and laughing with post-orgasmic bliss. He wants to hear what Eddie sounds like when he comes, if he would praise Richie, if he would tell him what to do, if he would ask him what he needs.

If he would _give_ him what he needs. 

Sure, he did things with Bill, but would it be the same? Would they actually kiss, or would it be a flurrying moment of lust? Would Eddie actually want him, or would he be flustered and frustrated, like Richie is now? 

Richie shakes himself out of it and grunts, hand flying over his own cock. Bill grimaces, then reaches back to find the dildo, pressing it to the edge of Richie’s hole.

“Just _talk_ ,” Richie says, eyes wet. He doesn’t want to be this desperate, but he is. That’s what this _is_. 

“Let me fuck you a little bit,” Bill says, angling it in, easing Richie up onto his knees so he can have most of the control. Richie rides it in waves, twisting his hips in a circle to take most of it, letting the slick drag consume him.

“Eddie creeped up behind me, dick hard, pressing it against my ass,” Bill says, eyes trained on where he’s doing the same to Richie, “I thought he was gonna fuck me but then he threw me on the bed and told me to climb on.” 

Richie’s body sings. 

He imagines riding Eddie like he is the dildo now, bouncing faster and faster on his cock until they’re both wild-eyed and dripping sweat. Eddie’s so much smaller than him - it wouldn’t be hard to mount his hips and go to town. 

“His eyes were so fucking intense I thought I was gonna die. Or come as soon as he got in me,” Bill laughs, trailing a hand up Richie’s chest to pinch at his nipple.

“Fuck, that’s good.”

“Eddie licked mine while he fucked me,” Bill answers. Richie almost collapses in on himself. “He pumped his hips up into me slow, then hard, going how he wanted, but it was like it was I wanted, too.”

Richie clenches his fist around his cock and groans. 

He imagines Eddie late at night, maybe after some drinking, like with Bill. He imagines Eddie early in the morning, warm with sleep, slow and sticky. He imagines Eddie in bed, on the couch, in the car. He imagines the shivers up his spine, the sparks through his body, the tingling in his legs, feet, arms, hands, heart. 

Bill thrusts the dildo harder, angling it just right to hit Richie’s prostate, and Richie, were he in any sound state of mind, might actually wonder if Bill is more capable than he lets on. But the time for cooking in his disappointment is over - Richie’s about to blow. 

“We tried different positions, on all fours, like we just were, and I swear, Rich, it was like he was born to fuck,” Bill says with wonder. 

“Keep going,” Richie gasps, and Bill nods frantically, snapping his wrist to maintain speed. 

“When I was close he flipped me over, laid between my legs and went to town, just closed his eyes and let me have it, just came inside of me while he stroked me nice and hard, and fuck, I saw stars.”

“Bill-“

“Yeah,” Bill almost sighs, biting gently into Richie’s shoulder, “it was so good, Rich, just the feel of him going off inside me-“ 

Bill punctuates it with a small groan, but Richie is already imagining it. Eddie coming deep inside him, Eddie losing it above him, fucking his ass with perfect precision that brings them both to the edge with ease. 

He imagines it and clenches, hard, around the toy, stroking himself to completion, wishing it was Eddie’s hand, Eddie’s cock, Eddie’s body. 

Eddie wanting him. Eddie making him feel good. Eddie feeling good _because_ of him. 

Richie flops back on the bed. He’s sheened with sweat and come, his hand covered, the dildo lying next to him after a job well done. Bill is hunched over him, still smiling down. He presses his hand over Richie’s jaw, leans down, and kisses him gently on the mouth. 

Richie hums into it, surprised but not displeased. Bill takes most of the control this time, swiping a tongue over his bottom lip and up across his teeth until Richie meets him halfway. Their breath mingles happily as they take their time feeling each other. The last vestiges of stress melt from his body, settling into silence, and Richie almost wishes they had started this way, mouthing at each other slowly and carefully. 

Bill pulls away to press a small kiss to the corner of Richie’s mouth, the juncture where his lips meet. Richie’s hand palms across the top of Bill’s shoulders as their eyes stick together. 

Bill nods almost imperceptibly. Richie’s not sure if it’s an attempt at comfort or a recognition of the same sadness they both feel. Bill turns to lay on his own pillow, and they fall into silence together until Richie looks over to see Bill’s eyes rimmed red and squinted.

“Are you about to cry?” Richie asks, breaking the glass ceiling of whatever moment of clarity he thought had just occurred. “Please do not cry on me, man, I’m a widow’s whisper away myself and if you start-”

“What the fuck is a widow’s wh- you k-know what, nevermind.” Bill waves a hand, wiping at his face. Richie steadies his breathing, trying to ignore the drying come on his hand and thigh and pubic hair in favor of waiting on Bill to calm down. “I’m not going to cry. I just wish-”

“I think we both know what you wish, Billy boy.” 

Bill turns to face him, and the heated fervor in his eyes shocks some of the returned tension from Richie’s body. 

“I want it for you, too, you know,” he says, holding Richie’s gaze. Richie tries to pull away, but he’s stuck. He’s stuck in this moment, in the truth, in his feelings. How can he fucking deny it after all this? “I want you to have this b-b-back,” Bill says, tapping gently at the center of Richie’s chest. 

“Don’t think it’s possible,” Richie says. He feels the sting of tears. Maybe he shouldn’t have scolded Bill for crying after all. 

“Could be,” Bill says, turning onto his back. “You just have to talk to him.” 

Richie wants to explode and crumble into himself at the same time. The solution seems simple to everyone but him. Maybe it’s because they’re not the ones who actually have to _do_ it. Then Richie remembers.

“I’ll talk to Eddie if you talk to Mike,” he says. He expects Bill to roll back over, to slap a hand to his chest again, or maybe across the face, or maybe just glare at him until he backs down from the uncomfortable silence. Instead, his face is soft and patient, eyes sparkling with some sort of foresight. 

“Deal.” 

* * *

Thursday comes a lot faster than Richie wants it. 

He and Bill spend most of their post-sex trip time eating, and luckily, that’s one of Richie’s favorite past-times. They scour every nook and cranny of central London for food: fish & chips, meat pies (Bill doesn’t appreciate the Sweeney Todd jokes at first but always joins in when Richie hits the creepy Anthony songs), roast chicken, local Chinese and Indian, sushi and Thai, and by the final day Richie feels like he’s traveled several hundred miles in the span of one city. But they do a little more than food. Despite Bill’s initial grumpiness, he agrees to take Richie to most of the tourist traps as long as he stays respectful. See: quiet. 

Richie agrees, so Bill takes him to Buckingham Palace (overrated), The Tower (knights and old newspaper clippings of salty reviews? Amazing), Big Ben and the London Eye, The National Gallery and Trafalgar Square, basically everywhere Richie wanted to go as a kid and never thought he’d actually see. Richie’s _been_ to London before, a few dozen times, in fact. He’s had interviews and shows, he’s done seedy little pubs and big venues, but he’d never really _seen_ it. 

Richie wanders through the packed squares of people, or down the rain-slick sidewalks, or almost gets hit by a double-decker bus, and realizes how much of life he’s been blocking out all these years. Feeling alive was something reserved for a long night of drinking, or a couple joints, or maybe seeing a man across a crowded room who seemed interested, and that felt like enough. 

Derry opened his eyes in more ways than one, not all of them pleasant. But he breathes in the foggy London air, buys a few novelty “I Heart London” umbrellas and shirts for his friends, finds Bill buying a soft pretzel right outside the kiosk and lets it all settle. Life. New things. He doesn’t want to let it go. 

So when he arrives back in Beverly Hills, back to his giant house and his backyard pool and his closet full of novelty t-shirts and tuxes for suffocating social events, he’s tracing his steps back to the driveway in almost ten minutes flat. He dumps his suitcase on his bed, repacks it with a few new items, orders a new car, and calls his agent. 

She answers with a heavy sigh, anticipating bad news, and, like, _fair_. He’s been nothing but full of bad news since he hired her. 

“Harry, my dear,” he starts, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he sees the car approach, “I’m afraid I have one simple favor to ask of you.” 

“Are you- _one_? You’ve done nothing but ask me for favors.” He’s never actually seen her, but he can tell she’s frowning. Severely. Like, her jaw and slant of her mouth are currently on the floor, rummaging around for some sort of shred of dignity, but she gave that up when she took on one Mr. Richard Tozier, King of Self-Discovery and Professional Disappointment. 

“I need you to move the HBO meeting on Saturday.” 

“Absolutely not,” she says before he’s even done. Richie stumbles a bit in his gait and almost topples over into a hedge. The driver stares at him, so he waves. 

He clears his throat and turns to face the house. “No chance of moving it?” 

Richie hears the whir of the car window. “Let’s get a move on, man!” the driver yells. He pivots around to throw up a finger. This is really not a conversation he wants to have in the car. Traditionally, that hasn’t gone well for him.

“Absolutely no chance.” Harriet sounds smug, shored up, positive Richie wouldn’t be enough of an idiot to throw away a big-time, cable television chance like this. He shrugs.

“Alright, then cancel it.” 

She gives a little squawk, shredding through his speakers, before going completely silent. 

“Harry? I said-”

“Can you not fucking call me Harry?” she snaps. Richie bites his lip. The pounding in his heart just spurs him on. He misses Eddie so much it hurts. Fuck everything else that doesn’t fit into what he wants: to feel alive. 

“Sorry, _Harriet_ , but I have a commitment with a, uh, a friend and I need to make it.”

“Richie, you’ve had nothing but ‘commitments with friends’ since you hired me. You’re telling me you can’t get it up just _once_ to meet with execs? It took me long enough to convince the guy down at the office that you’d have a pitch worth listening to,” she says, then groans, long and low, “You’re in Beverly Hills, you’re telling me you can’t make time?” 

Richie smiles, walking to the car and wrenching open the door. 

“No can do,” he says, throwing his bag onto the far seat and sliding on in, “You see, I’m on a flight to New York in T minus two hours.” 

“New York,” she repeats slowly. 

“Yep,” he says, grinning up at the driver, who’s scowling back, “I have a very important party to attend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Big Dick Eddie GC and the whole server for pumping me up when I needed it. Thank you to Heather for being lovely as always. 
> 
> Please leave me a comment if you're able, and as always, find me on Tumblr at [tinyangryeddie](https://tinyangryeddie.tumblr.com/) or Twitter, where I'm [camerasparring](https://twitter.com/camerasparring)!


	5. Eddie Kaspbrak and The Surprise Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out, Eddie Kaspbrak knows how to throw a good party. 
> 
> Though Richie is pretty sure that’s due more to the company than any particular hosting, but hey, he’s hardly capable of objectivity. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is *gasp* no sex in this chapter. How DARE I? I needed to move the "plot" along, kiddos. Hopefully it will be worth it in the end. 
> 
> Big shout out to [Katie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tempestbreak/pseuds/tempestbreak) that I forgot to make on the last chapter for beta'ing and for helping me re-structure this fic to be what it is today. Also for being a Pillow Princess Bill champion lol 
> 
> Chapter tags: Bev being Emotionally Mature, Flirting through Aggression, Pining, pigs in a blanket, Cute Eddie Kaspbrak and Clueless Bill Denbrough. (no, none of these are real tags, but they SHOULD be)

Eddie Kaspbrak gets what he wants - eventually. 

Even if it means Richie Tozier cancels an important meeting, cleans out his frequent flier miles, and drops almost a thousand dollars on additional travel and a hotel room to make it happen.

As soon as he’s checked in, Richie flops onto the bed to take a nap, or maybe call Eddie to let him know he’s coming. 

Instead, he ends up stress-scrolling through the group chat to find Eddie’s address, plugging it into Earth and staring at the building for almost an hour while he panics.

The building looks nice, but boring, but then again, it’s a fucking building. Richie does some elementary googling to find the price range, and not for the first time considers how much money Eddie really has. It was a passing thought in Derry, mostly due to Eddie’s clothes and shoes and _watch_ , but now there’s divorce proceedings to think about. Eddie complains very little about his financial situation, and Richie has no idea if Myra raked him over the coals, or maybe they had a pre-nup? But doesn’t _that_ kind of signify money to begin with? It’s not like Eddie would vent to his newly-re-found friends about money, that doesn’t seem like him, but Richie realizes he’s not even sure what exactly happened. 

Richie’s pointedly ignored chats about Eddie’s marriage before when they’ve talked - not that Eddie seemed eager to divulge in the first place. But the concept of it unlocks about fifteen other dangerous paths in Richie’s sleep-deprived brain. Eddie slept with Bill. Is he sleeping with other people? And what if he’s actually _seeing_ someone? What if this party is all a ploy to get his friends to meet his new partner? What if that’s the reason he really needed a bigger place?

After another fifteen minutes of carefully zooming in and out on the picture of Eddie’s new building, Richie calls Bev. 

“Long time no Trashmouth,” she says as soon as she picks up, and Richie almost bursts into tears at the sound of her voice. 

“Bev, I don’t know if I can come to this party,” he blurts. 

“What do you mean? Why wouldn’t you come to the party?” she says quickly.

“I mean, I’m in New York, I’m literally _about_ to come to the party.”

“Okay,” she says slowly, “then come to the… party?”

“But Eddie doesn’t know I’m in New York,” Richie says heatedly, throwing his arms above his head and knocking his bony wrist into the headboard. He hisses in pain, but Bev ignores him.

“Why doesn’t-”

“I wasn’t going to come to the party,” he says, rubbing at the forming bruise. 

She sighs. “I know, we’ve been over this.” 

“No, no, I _told_ him no when he asked me. I had a meeting with HBO execs to pitch them a show but I-”

“Wow, Richie, that’s great,” she says, bright and encouraging. Richie could scream. 

“No, I _canceled the meeting_.” 

Beverly hums. Richie vibrates further into the hotel duvet. He tries to tell himself to calm down, to take it easy, to not get fucking worked up when he’s the one who called Bev out of the blue to hit and run her with his mess of a life. 

“I think you need to come to this party,” she finally says. 

“I don’t know if I can,” he chokes. “I’ve been spinning my wheels for months, but you guys all have lives you’re leading. Even- even Eddie is moving on, and I’m just gonna go back to Beverly Hills and live my dumbass, money-grubbing life? Or maybe I don’t even have a career, who the fuck knows, but I can’t even find it in myself to care. All I care about it- All I care about is you guys.” 

“Rich, I think it’ll be better once you’re with us.” 

Richie’s throat constricts, the muscles in his neck flinching. A solid pit of terror knocks him sideways. Before he arrived, the thought of seeing all of his friends together again was one of his driving factors. But now that he’s here, now that he’s within a stone’s throw (and a day) of having it, he’s getting cold feet. 

“Richie?” Bev asks. Richie scratches at the back of his head, just to feel something, for some sort of grounding bullshit, and it almost helps. 

“I’m here- I just-”

“Rich, there’s nothing wrong with what you’re feeling, remember?” she says, quietly, calmly, and he thinks of her dark, commanding eyes, of a soft touch that made him feel like somehow everything could be okay. It’s like she’s there with him. Hand on his arm, eyes tucked into his, kissing him gently on the lips. She’s taking care of him when all of him seems scattered to the winds - picking up every piece and holding them close to protect, showing it to him with his own eyes, letting him know it’s okay.

He gasps out a laugh into the phone. 

“It’s easier to walk away from this shit, believe me, I know,” she says, and he holds the tears in, he doesn’t want to fucking cry about this again, “and it’s not just the bad stuff that’s easy to run away from. It all hurts, so why not save yourself the trouble and forget it?” 

“Fuck, I’m not saying I want to _forget_ ,” he hisses, anger flaring unexpectedly through him. He would _never_ choose to forget again. 

“I’m not saying you do, I’m just saying the instinct is there, and it’s familiar, and that’s all that’s happening to you,” she says like it’s simple. Richie flexes his fingers and watches them bend.

“So you’re saying I should be a fucking adult and face my problems head on?” 

She laughs sweetly. “By problems do you mean your friends?” 

“Of course,” he snorts, “but I was talking more about the being in love with Eddie thing.” 

“Oh,” she says, “Right, that.”

“Yeah, _that_.”

“So I got a little lost before when you were babbling like a monkey, he _does_ know you’re coming?” 

Richie laughs. “He does not. I kind of, um.” He looks around his hotel room, about twice the size he needed but the only one available in such short notice. “I kind of jumped on a plane as soon as I got home.” 

She harrumphs. “You really need to sell that house.” 

“I know,” he agrees, rubbing a hand over his face. When his eyes snap open, it’s to the fuzzy, rain-soaked skyline of New York City out his giant windows. Something loosens in his chest. 

Moving to California was a decision made out of necessity, and also ease, considering he wanted a big ol’ in to the comedy scene. A few other guys straight out of college were headed there, so he waved goodbye to his parents and the homophobic shithole that was Derry, Maine and hopped into a van and booked it all the way. The friends abandoned him almost immediately, but the comedy bug stayed, and it didn’t take long for him to make a semi-name for himself on the stand up circuit. Then came some money. Then more. And then some fame. And before he knew it, he was a semi- _household_ name. 

By the time he was thirty, he was moving to Beverly Hills and smoking legal, medicinal weed by his jack-off pool, completely alone. 

Returning to that place, no matter what was waiting for him elsewhere, just didn’t seem like an option. Atlanta, Florida, London, New York. Turns out Richie doesn’t really care where he is - as long as that place includes his friends. 

“I think Eddie would love to see you,” Bev says. The buildings shine at him blearily through the droplets clung to the glass. 

“Yeah,” he says, “I’d love to see him, too.” 

* * *

Richie spends most of Friday walking around the city and working up the courage to call Eddie to join him.

He never manages it, but he figures Eddie is busy prepping for the party anyway, so he tells himself they’ll see each other Sunday, when it's over, when he has less to worry about. It has nothing to do with his overwhelming fear of seeing Eddie alone, or revealing his feelings, or telling him the varied and promiscuous tales from his time on the road with the rest of their friends. 

No, Richie thinks, reasonably and non-avoidantly, at 9pm on Friday night, it will be better to see each other with the group first. Suss Eddie out. Get used to things again before he hashes out a plan of action.

When he knocks on Eddie’s door the next day, a fashionable fifteen minutes late, heart in his fucking throat, he wonders if the overall calming effect of the group will be ruined if he vomits before he even makes it through the door. 

Luckily, the sight of Eddie’s surprised face spins his senses so out of control that his stomach completely forgoes the nausea for a run of butterflies instead. 

“Richie,” Eddie says, a head shorter, and Richie hadn’t _forgotten_ but it still hits him hard, how easy it would be to lean down and kiss at where Eddie is all pinched lips and ridiculous dimples, but he certainly can’t do that, so he opens his mouth and says a silent prayer when words actually start coming out.

“Hey, Spaghetti, I hope I’m not late to the party.” He smiles, a little too widely, so he pulls it back. Eddie stares up at him, wide-eyed and stock-still.

“You’re-” Eddie blinks, then looks around, peers behind him, and that’s when Richie sees the apartment is already full of people. Their people. _His people_. “You’re here? You’re really fucking here right now?” 

“As far as I know,” Richie huffs, the calm creeping back into his soul from one glimpse of happiness on the other side of the door. But Eddie’s just there. Standing there, frozen again. Standing there, eyes glassy with recognition. Big, brown, beautiful eyes. 

Fuck, Richie. Get a fucking grip.

Eddie frowns. “You- You said you weren’t coming I-”

“I know,” Richie says, feeling more put together by the second, with every glimpse of Eddie, with every breath of him in his lungs, “I moved some things around, it wasn’t a problem.”

“It wasn’t-” Eddie shifts his feet on the ground, pushes his hands to his hips. He’s smart in a button down and slacks, what only a Kaspbrak would consider _party wear_ , but then Richie wonders if Bev dressed him, and that thought constricts all his airways. “It certainly seemed like a problem last week.” 

“Well last week was last week!” he says, trying for cheerful instead of antagonizing, but Eddie’s face flushes a deep red in response.

“Yeah, and you could have fucking told me you were coming, you moron!” Eddie’s arms are winding up by his side, clenching his fist around what Richie now recognizes as a spatula, and _this_ is familiar. “You think I have enough food for you? I saw you at the fucking Jade, you were like a hoover with appetizers and that’s all I’ve got,” Eddie says. Richie cracks a smile, Eddie’s pointed looks and pinched lips flooding him with energy. 

“Did you make them yourself? Because then it might not be a problem.”

Eddie squints. And points. Richie missed that fucking pointing.

“Fuck you, I’ve been learning to cook, man-”

“What is it, pizza pockets and gluten-free pigs in a blanket-”

“-and I prepared for this party for a fucking _week_ , not that you would know.”

“But I did just jump on a plane and couldn’t even stop at a McDonald’s, so uninvited guests can’t be choosers.” 

“I fucking invited you,” Eddie snaps.

Richie rolls his shoulders, his back cracking, his vision clearing. Eddie’s feet are tapping on the ground, caged in by the doorway, back-lit by the fuzzy commotion of the party happening without them, and Richie _missed_ him. His hair is slicked back but frayed, pieces stuck to his forehead that curl against his skin. His cheeks are tinted pink, like he’s been in the kitchen, like he’s been working hard to make these goddamn appetizers with nothing but a single spatula and all the moxie in the world. He smells like warm cinnamon and peroxide and something like cologne. 

Richie wants to kiss him so badly it reminds him of Derry. He shoves his hands in his pockets.

“You think I didn’t wanna see your fancy new digs, Spaghetti?” 

Eddie’s throat works. “Didn’t really seem like it, _dipshit_.” 

Richie grits his teeth and thinks of their last talk. He wants to apologize, or maybe explain, or maybe tell Eddie the whole fucking truth. Fuck the group, fuck the party, fuck running away, he wants, desperately, to spit it out and just see what happens. 

But when Eddie cracks a dirty smile, the light finding his eyes, Richie tucks all his those thoughts back into the recesses of his brain. 

Just see how it goes, he tells himself, falling into the pit of Eddie’s challenging eyes, knowing he wants nothing more than keeping them around for at least this evening. 

Knowing that he fucking loves this man with a clarity unlike anything else he’s ever felt.

Eddie uncrosses his arms, gesturing into the apartment with his spatula-free hand. 

“Well?” he asks, eyebrows up to his hairline, “Are you actually coming in, or are you gonna stand out here like a fucking creep?” 

Richie punches out a surprised laugh and moves to walk past Eddie into the apartment, his shoulder brushing Eddie’s chest, his hand shaking with how badly he wants to pull him into a hug and instead grabbing the closest surface, which turns out to be the kitchen counter a few feet inside. 

“Let’s get this party started, then, little man,” Richie says, spotting Bill shoveling a plate of something green into his mouth, “Are we starting with Never Have I Ever or jumping right into Twister?” 

He wiggles his eyebrows as Eddie shuts the door behind the both of them, and the sight of Eddie rolling his eyes is like balm over a wound. 

* * *

Turns out, Eddie Kaspbrak knows how to throw a good party. 

Though Richie is pretty sure that’s due more to the company than any particular hosting, but hey, he’s hardly capable of objectivity. 

He greets each of his friends like a solider home from war: warm hugs and barely contained sobbing. Except Stan, man of the future, who he can’t quite reach.

“Ah, Staniel,” Richie says after helping himself to a few regular pigs in a blanket (that Eddie insists he didn’t make based off his childish mention), and sidling over to the main party area in the living quarters to see a laptop open with Mr. Uris’ likeness sitting on a table. “Couldn’t show in person like a real friend, I see.” 

Stan groans just as Patty appears next to him on the screen. Richie clambers up closer at the sight of her face, her sandy blonde hair and her wide smile soothing in the whirlwind of socializing happening around him. Bev and Ben are chatting up Bill in the corner, Mike and Eddie are grinning at each other somewhere in the kitchen, and Richie is just trying to keep from staring at Eddie and wondering how he managed to let that fucker almost die without spilling his guts. 

But he can’t. So he focuses on Patricia, the platonic love of his life. 

“Stanley is very busy and important, you know this, Richie,” she says, shoving a bottle of margarita mix in front of the camera. Richie fist pumps. 

“If you think this will tempt me into modesty, you have greatly underestimated my stubbornness,” Stan says. Patty bumps their shoulders. 

“Well I’m glad you’re here anyway,” Richie says without thinking, and Stan’s eyes shine a little brighter. 

And he’s not the only one. 

Eddie clearly shines a _lot_ brighter under the attention of his friends, and he spends the entire party threatening to tip Richie off the ledge of complete adoration and into the danger zone. His mouth is free and easy, hardly clamming up when Richie ribs him every chance he gets. His eyes bug whenever people try his food and flood him with compliments, and a couple times, Richie sees him flee to the kitchen to hide some semblance of a blush. He waves people off when they leave their shoes on, or spill crumbs on the ground, or forget to leave the bathroom door open to avoid mold, because he insists he’s trying to ‘lighten up.’ 

Richie keeps finding himself staring, and touching, and reaching out, but two hours in, after they’ve gotten a tour, had four different kinds of smoked foods, seen Eddie attempt to pour martinis and subsequently mop gin and olives off the floor, he gives up completely on stopping himself. 

Richie’s so in love he can barely keep himself upright.

They split into smaller groups throughout the evening, keeping themselves happy with catching up and telling funny stories, listening to tales of each other and filling in the gaps. Mike and Bill wander through the building together to check out some of the new amenities Eddie says he’s using, like the gym and the spa. Ben and Bev talk about their vacation to Colorado, and suggest making a group trip happen sometime. Stan and Patty hint at trying for kids, and Eddie seems horrified, if not begrudgingly pleased for them, and Richie bites his lip to keep in a delighted giggle. Richie tries not to notice how Eddie sticks to him the entire time, how often Eddie’s hand is within reach to slap him after a joke, how quickly he looks up to watch Richie answer a question. Before he knows it, Richie feels like he’s shining, too. 

Eddie’s just always so _close_. Following Richie around bickering, or frowning, or asking him “what the fuck he’s doing so close to the _oven_ , dumbass, I’m keeping a pie _warm_ in there.” Richie just grins him away, just tries to keep his shit together and retain a modicum of control and calm, but with every second the presence of his friends puts him back together, Eddie’s there to pull him back apart. 

“So,” Eddie says, once he’s cornered Richie away from more mountain-talk, and seduced him into the kitchen for another glass of seltzer, because he can’t bare to add inebriation to the mixture of Eddie’s presence and undying friendship, “what happened to your meeting with HBO?”

Richie stumbles internally. He didn’t really plan on explaining it away with more that “I moved some things around” so he blows a raspberry and waves a hand between where he and Eddie are crowded far too close together in front of the sink. 

Eddie squints at him, his brow furrowed into a straight, menacing line. Richie sighs.

“I just… I didn’t end up, uh,” Richie wiggles his fingers, “I didn’t go.” 

Eddie silently gasps, hand raising like he’s waiting for a string of pearls to appear so he can clutch them. 

“Did you… for the _party_?” Eddie’s eyes are wide, his forehead wrinkled beyond recognition. 

Richie nods, and it’s like all the air in Eddie’s body leaves in a puff, the wolf blowing down the house that is Richie’s fragile sense of self. 

“Eds, you sounded fucking crushed on the phone that I couldn’t make it-”

“I wasn’t _crushed_ ,” Eddie says, hand gripping his hip, foot tapping the floor.

“And you were the only one I had left to-” Richie catches himself, hand frozen in the air where he’s been gesturing, Eddie’s face crumpled up and stuck, waiting for him to finish, and Richie breathes out, “To, uh. To see. The only one I hadn’t- visited.” 

Eddie’s mouth presses into a straight line. “Oh.” 

“You’ve been saying that lot lately.”

Eddie’s lips turn up almost imperceptibly. “Fuck you.” 

“It wasn’t that big of a deal,” Richie says, a little quieter. “I wanted to see where you were living your fancy new bachelor life, dude.” 

“I wouldn’t say I’m- wait.” Eddie’s growing smile drops off his face. He points up at Richie. “What makes you say I’m living a-”

The door to the apartment swings open, startling both of them into a jump until they see Mike and Bill returned from their sojourn around the building. Richie sags in relief at the sight of them. He’s not sure what that question was going to be, or why Eddie would be so concerned. He _is_ single. Doing what he wants. Doing-

Bill makes a beeline into the kitchen, busting through where Richie and Eddie are standing together, to pull a bottle of well-hidden whiskey from the top of the fridge and slam it onto the counter. Before Richie even has time to wonder why _very adult_ Eddie Kaspbrak has a fifth of whiskey hidden, Bill is downing two shots and half a plate of the spinach puffs in front of him in record time.

Eddie turns away from watching Bill have a puff-centric meltdown to raise eyebrows at Richie, in what Richie assumes means _what is that about_? which Richie answers with a mild shrug of _who the fuck knows_?

Eddie opens his mouth again, presumably to ask the question aloud, and maybe to Bill this time, when Bev gets his attention across the room. 

“Eddie, come tell us what the fuck these creepy knick-knacks are,” she’s giggling, hunched over the table next to the couch. 

Eddie stares at Richie and closes his mouth, then turns to the living room.

“They were my aunt’s and they’re family heirlooms and I have no fucking explanation other than I didn’t want to be rude and then I was worried they would curse me if I left them in a box,” Eddie says breathlessly, walking toward her. Richie warms with a smile. 

Some commotion is happening between Patty and Stan, now relatively tipsy, a cursory dust-up over the condition of the wood of the coffee table they can’t even see, but Ben is chuckling anyway, trying to get a word in edgewise. Eddie starts throwing his arms in the air while Bev pokes fun at him, holding up each individual tiny bear statue for an explanation. Mike’s chugging a bottle of beer next to them, glancing nervously into the kitchen, and that’s when Richie stops fawning over the rest of his friends to remember Bill. 

When Richie turns to see him, his eyes are wild and reflective, like a bear in the woods about to shit and run. Richie cautiously reaches out a hand and puffs up his shoulders because he saw in a documentary once that making yourself big might avoid spooking dangerous animals. Bill barely notices him approaching, so mission accomplished. 

“You okay there, Billy boy?” 

Bill snaps to look at him, his whole body jerking. Richie turns back to where Bill’s eyeline was so fervently stuck, only to see Mike’s grumpy beer-guzzling mug. 

Richie bites his lip to keep the smile at bay. Sue him if he wants to take a little pleasure in not being the only sad sack in love here. 

“Bill,” Richie prods, and Bill shrugs from his incoming touch. “What the fuck happened on your walk?” 

“Nothing,” Bill sighs, opens his mouth, slams it shut again. Richie tilts his head while Bill goes through another bout of flapping like a fish until he finally says, “Do you ever get the feeling that you’re- I mean.” 

“That I’m mean? Sometimes.” Richie shrugs, grabbing for a spinach puff. Bill smacks his hand away.

“No, asshole, don’t be obtuse on purpose.”

“Ow, man, this is a _shared appetizer_ -”

“Shut up,” Bill says, shoving a measly puff at him, bent incorrectly at the edges, the pity puff of the plate, “have you talked to Eddie?” 

Richie sets the puff down shakily, his appetite no longer of much concern. He turns to point at where Eddie is smiling beautifully in the living room and almost openly whines. 

“Does it look like I’ve talked to him?”

Bill considers that for a moment. “Well I think I might tell Mike.” 

Richie balks. “Tell… _tell_ him? I thought we were discussing _talking_ not _telling_.” 

“Well I’m talking about _telling_ ,” Bill snaps, the fire in his eyes burning bright and strong, so strong it scares Richie into silence. For a second. But one second is long enough for Bill to push past him and into the living room, right toward Mike in the corner. 

At first, Richie hopes no one will notice. But then Bill hip checks the lamp illuminating the whole room, and everyone turns to watch him approach Mike with confused and interested eyes. Richie stares down at his abandoned spinach puff. 

“This isn’t going to end well,” he says, popping it into his mouth and following Bill’s path into the crowd of his friends. 

Sure enough, Bill’s hands are visibly shaking at his side, so Richie sidles up close next to him in an effort to soothe him. Bill turns to look up at him, eyes softening gratefully. 

“Hey, man, maybe you should-” Richie starts, at the same time Bill stares straight ahead and blurts, “Mike, I’m in love with you.” 

The whole room goes quiet. The remnants of a trite laugh still tickles through the laptop speakers until the momentary lag catches up and Stan and Patty realize something has changed. 

“W- Bill,” Mike says, hand gripped firmly around his now-empty beer bottle, “what are you talking about?” 

Bill sighs. “I didn’t fucking- I didn’t mean to say this in front of everybody but now I realize I said it kind of loudly, so I guess all my chips are in at this point anyway.” He looks around the room, at a sea of stunned faces. Richie notices Eddie frozen next to Bev, a brown bear clutched in his hand. 

“Your- your chips?”

“Yes, like, p-p-poker- anyway,” Bill hedges, shaking himself off and moving a step closer, “I’m in love with you, and I just wanted you to know.” 

“Maybe we should leave,” Bev says from next to Eddie, but Richie sees Mike shaking his head, pressing a thumb into his eye.

“No, no, wait- I- how do you-” Mike takes a deep breath in, but Richie’s eyes are stuck on Eddie, like Eddie’s stuck altogether, both of them watching this metaphorical car crash, but he wants so desperately to know how Eddie would react if he did the same thing.

“I didn’t r-r-realize for a long time, for a really long time, and the last time we s-s-saw each other I chickened out because we got that amazing meal at the farmer’s market and I just wanted to enjoy the f-f- the _day_ with you,” Bill says, looking to Richie suddenly, and Richie realizes what’s happening a second too late, “And then Richie and I got to talking and we both agreed to say how we were feeling after we-”

Bill’s eyes fill out with terror, wide and swimming with panic, and Richie wants to sink into the floor, wants to melt and re-form into a spinach puff, sitting safely on a plate in the kitchen.

“After you…” Mike leads, and Bill smacks a hand to his forehead. 

“Bill,” Richie tries, but Bill squeaks out, “After we slept together,” and Richie’s whole world collapses in on itself. 

Another, more immediate, somehow more shocked silence falls over the room, but this time Richie can barely tell over the rushing in his ears. He can’t look at Eddie again. Luckily, Stan and Patty pull his attention instead.

“ _Bill_? You slept with Richie, too?” Patty asks. Richie turns to the screen just in time to see Stan slap a hand over Patty’s mouth, but it’s too late. 

Movement catches in Richie’s periphery, and it isn’t until the last second, when he’s turning to look, that he realizes it’s Eddie walking to the middle of the room. 

“Stan and Bill _both_ slept with Richie?” Eddie asks quietly. Richie clenches his eyes shut.

“I really feel like this is pulling attention from the matter at hand,” he says shakily, gesturing back between where Mike and Bill are throwing each other puppy dog eyes, “Bill’s in love with Mike, remember?” 

Bev shakes her head and moves into focus. “That is really funny because we slept with him, too, actually.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up, jumping through the lines on his forehead with ease. 

“ _We_??” 

Ben shrugs from his spot on the couch. “Yeah, we’re a couple, Eds.” 

“I mean, it was mostly Ben, but I was _there_ , obviously,” Bev adds. 

“Wow,” says Stan, as Eddie audibly exhales. Richie hears the tap tap tap of Eddie’s foot. “I didn’t include Patty but we’ve definitely talked about it. Good for you guys.” 

“Thanks, man,” Ben says. Richie groans. 

“Can we not-”

“Wait one fucking second,” Eddie interrupts, his face a dark shade of red, his chest rising and falling catastrophically, “are you saying that me and Mike are the only ones who haven’t-” He looks to Richie, his mouth stuck open, wobbling under the duress of the words _fucked Richie_.

“Actually,” Mike says, his first sign of life since the big confession, and Richie wants to die. He just wants death to take him right this moment and be done with it. 

He was fucking right. This is not ending well. 

“Mike.” Eddie’s voice is eerily steady, but Richie recognizes it as the calm before the storm. “Are you fucking _kidding_ me?” 

Mike’s mouth twists. “I was trying to get over some- well, fuck it, I was trying to get over Bill.” 

“Bill??” Richie sputters. 

Mike shrugs over at him. “You didn’t put that together? I thought I was obvious.” 

Richie thinks back to their conversations as Bill grabs for Mike’s hand in the corner. He thought _he_ was being obvious about Eddie. Clearly they were both stuck in their own pathetic realities. But now Mike’s is coming to fruition and Richie- well. Richie’s is quickly becoming untenable, because Eddie looks several thousand shades of pissed.

The veins in his neck are heavy with blood, pumping and popping from the surface of his skin like kinked hoses getting thicker and thicker with build up. Richie has no fucking idea what to do. 

Bill, for his part, looks like a Disney princess just discovering the man they brought along on their journey was the same man who loved them from afar all along. Richie feels his internal organs shriveling up as he stands and watches all his friends happily chuckle at their shared experience of getting in his pants. 

“I can’t believe we all did this without even consulting each other,” Patty’s saying as Richie starts to put himself back together, starts to dig his way out of this mental tunnel because he has to get the fuck _out of here_ , “We could have started a group chat or something.” 

“Yeah,” Bev laughs, plopping next to Ben on the couch, “We could name it ‘It Really Is That Big.’”

“Oh my god, _right_?” Mike laughs, fingers woven with Bill’s, Bill’s head pressed to his chest to hide his giggles. PDA right out the gate, apparently. Richie sees red.

“Oooh, or ‘That’s Why They Call Him Trashmouth,’” Bill says, but Bev waves her hand.

“That sounds like one of his comedy specials.”

“That’s good, actually,” Richie mumbles. He looks up to see Eddie’s eyes hot on his, his mouth laid open like he’s trying to speak. Richie’s stomach swoops as the conversation continues.

“I think we should go with a simple ‘We Fucked Richie,’” Stan says. Patty guffaws.

“You’re so fucking straight-forward, we’re trying to have _fun_.”

“I think that’s funny!” Stan insists.

“It kinda is,” Ben agrees.

“Stan’s the winner, I’m the only one who can decide,” Richie adds, desperate to smooth all this over and move on.

“I’m glad this is all so fucking _hilarious_ to you,” Eddie says out of nowhere, his hands thrown up above his head, and Richie stupidly looks up, like the answer on how to escape is there and Eddie is leading his way. Instead, Eddie moves forward, standing right in front of Richie, his face still thundering red and pinched tight. 

Richie opens his mouth to tell him to calm down, or ask him why he’s so upset, or maybe why he’s acting like this is all a personal affront to him, but then Eddie is staring him dead in the eye, pulling at his hand and saying:

“Come the fuck with me right now, asshole.” 

Richie’s forced through the length of the room under the eyes of all of his friends, smiles still pressed on their faces, ideas for their brand new slammin’ Richie group chat still lingering in their minds, no doubt. Richie feels like he’s jumped into a fucking hurricane, going every which way, no idea which of them is up or down, no idea why Eddie is leading him to the bedroom, which he only recognizes because of his stupidly thorough tour earlier, and _fuck_ , Richie loves him. 

Richie stares down at where Eddie is holding his hand and feels his fingers tingle. He tries to let this moment sink in. Amongst all the chaos, he wants to remember touching Eddie, because it might be his last chance. This, apparently, very clearly, is Eddie’s last straw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will either be out this weekend or the next, depending on how quickly I can get some work done on the finale... :D 
> 
> Please leave me a comment if you're able, and as always, find me on Tumblr at [tinyangryeddie](https://tinyangryeddie.tumblr.com/) or Twitter, where I'm [camerasparring](https://twitter.com/camerasparring)!


	6. Richie Tozier and The Consequences of His Actions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie Kaspbrak has never been good at sharing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back.
> 
> These tags are spoilery as they usually are but I want you to know what you're getting into!!
> 
> Chapter tags: Possessive Eddie, Bottom Richie, Top Eddie, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Rough Sex, a lil' choking, a lil' spanking, dirty talk, slut-shaming, barebacking, light humiliation, and a whole lotta feelings.

Eddie Kaspbrak has never been good at sharing. 

When they were kids, it was all whiny-voices and swatting hands and tattle-taling. Just because Richie had a tendency to snatch toys, or snacks, or assignments, so he could pretend to cheat, even though he never needed to. Richie got fine enough grades without Eddie’s mundane thoughts on the Louisiana Purchase, but he always corn-cobbed his eyes over every page, hunched over the lunch table, desperate to be on the receiving end of grabby hands, of red faces and rambling and Eddie’s attention.

Eddie’s wide eyes on him, outraged and possessive, flustered for a reason neither of them could figure out, just stuck on _this is mine_ and _you can’t have it_. 

But Richie wanted it. He wanted everything. 

When Eddie wrenches his hand away to close his bedroom door, Richie’s hand is cold in its absence. He eyes the big puffy bed, what looks like a fucking King, and wonders if he could burrow under the covers and never come out, or if Eddie would climb in and pull him out of there, too. But that’s a whole new realm of thoughts he should _not_ be having right now. 

Eddie’s eyes look the same as when they were kids and Richie yanked his comic book right out of his hand: rife with anger, beside himself with disbelief, stuck on Richie like he’s about to commit a murder.

“You slept with _all of our friends?_ ” he hisses.

Richie freezes, his mind spinning.

“Are you whispering? Because I kind of feel like that cat is far out of the bag by now.”

Eddie pinches at the bridge of his nose. “I’m not whispering, I’m fucking _mad_.” 

“Yeah, I can kind of tell, and not your usual delightful mad, this is more like,” he throws on a voice, stricken in the face of whatever _this is_ , “ _Watch out boys, she’s gonna blow!_ ” 

“Sounds more like that’s what you were doing,” Eddie yelps.

Richie deflates. “Eds-”

“Over and over.” 

“I didn’t mean to-”

“With all of our friends,” Eddie says, voice an edge of tension, pressing himself into the dresser, gripping at the edge, “Even with _Bill_?” A shade of horror flashes across his face, and Richie can’t stop himself.

“Oh, you’re one to talk.” 

Every emotion slides off Eddie’s face like melted ice cream on a hot day. Then, as quick as it left, it’s replaced with sheer, unbridled rage. Richie can feel the heat bucking off of him from across the room. 

“You fucked every single person out there, don’t throw that in my face,” he says, crossing his arms, staring at the ground and huffing air through his nose. 

Richie laughs. He cracks and fucking laughs, because this cannot possibly be happening right now. Eddie glares at him like he’s lost his marbles, and truly, he may be in the process.

“What are you fucking _laughing_ at right now?” 

“I don’t know, Eds,” Richie laughs, pressing at his stomach to try to curb the flow, “why the fuck are you so mad?” 

Eddie’s arms fly free, flung out to each side like he’s preaching at the pulpit of Richie’s idiocy.

“I just found out you’ve been fucking our friends after ignoring me for months!” 

“I haven’t been ignoring you-” 

Eddie laughs at that, but it’s darker, dryer, more of incredulity than abject disbelief. It sets fire to the anger simmering in Richie’s gut. 

“I _haven’t_ , I just couldn’t-”

“Couldn’t stand to see me? While you were off visiting- _fucking_ everyone else?” Eddie’s hands are back on his hips, and Richie wants to jump out the window, or hide under the bed this time, but he definitely doesn’t want to have this conversation. An image of Bill and Mike flashes before his mind, right outside, happy and mutually in love while he gets absolutely shredded in Eddie’s brand new bedroom. 

Where he and Bill probably fucked. 

“I couldn’t see you,” Richie says softly, all the fight draining from him, “I couldn’t have the same thing happen.” 

“Why the fuck _not_?” Eddie hisses, a feral cat in heat, his hands shaking where they’re pinned against him, knuckles bright white. Richie’s brain turns the same shade. 

“Eddie-”

“No,” Eddie yells, taking a jerky step forward, and Richie moves back at the same speed, “Tell me why the fuck I’m the only one not worth your fuckin’ time when I was _inviting_ you to stay with me almost every single-”

“Because I couldn’t just fuck you and not, not… have it not-” Richie’s throat clutches, all the things he’s been keeping in refusing to pour out, clammed up, shut down, too tired to claw out of him. 

Eddie growls out, “Have it not _what_?”

Richie’s ears are ringing, his vision spotty, his limbs going numb. He wiggles his fingers again, just to make sure they’re there, hanging uselessly at his sides. He gathers all the air in his lungs and falls into it. 

He balls up his fists.

“Have it not _mean_ anything,” he says. “I couldn’t fuck you and risk it not meaning anything. Risk it being just a fun time, or a ‘bonding experience,’ or us trying to get over other people. I couldn’t do that, Eds, because _you’re_ the one I’m trying to get over. You’re the only one I _want_ to fuck, and that’s why I couldn’t stay with you.” 

It sounds coarse, so unfeeling in its bluntness that Richie slams his eyes shut. 

“That’s not- I wanted to be with everyone else, alright? It wasn’t _bad_ , it was actually usually really good, except,” Richie opens his eyes to a deep-dimpled, grimacing, giant-eyed Eddie in turn, so he forgoes naming Bill specifically, “I love everyone. All of them, and I loved making them feel good, and they made _me_ feel good, but I l-”

Richie’s heart flutters, he can almost feel it through the skin of his chest, pressed tight to his rib cage, pumping blood to keep him going.

It’s not that he didn’t want to fuck his friends, or it didn’t _mean_ anything. But it wasn’t… everything. 

It would be with Eddie. And he can’t risk losing that. 

Eddie gapes at him, face still red, arms still tucked across his chest. He watches Richie, his body clenching up tight, until Richie sees him start to shake. Richie can’t tear his eyes away. They feel stuck in the middle of a thought, until Eddie finally wets his lips and digs in.

“But- what- I- what the _fuck_ , you fucking-” Eddie slams his fists against his legs, pounding at his thighs and steaming, and Richie feels that streak of terror return. “You think I couldn’t make you feel good? That I couldn’t make you feel- fucking _better_ than them?”

Richie’s throat goes dry. His heart drums a steady, ecstatic beat. Eddie’s unraveling in front of him, arms flailing now.

“You let all of them touch you and, and _fuck_ you, and you won’t even let me _try_? All these fucking people love you, but they’re not _in love with you_ ,” Eddie breathes, teeth bared, nails dug into his palms, “Not like me. They can’t love you like I do.” 

A few feet stretches between them, but it feels like a mile to cross right now. Richie’s planted in his spot, back of his knees pressed up against the comforter draped over the sides of Eddie’s bed, Eddie’s eyes locked on his, ready to fight. 

“I fucking love you, and it’s _my_ fucking turn to make you feel good,” Eddie says, flinging himself across the unending space like it means nothing, but he slots his mouth onto Richie’s, all tongue and teeth and biting and soothing, and it means fucking _everything_. 

“Mmff- fuck-” Richie groans into it, snapped awake and vibrant by the shock of pain, “Eddie-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie whispers harshly into his mouth, sweeping his tongue up the top of Richie’s palette and hooking under his teeth, “You can’t fucking-”

Eddie pulls back to face him, eyes wild and foggy, big and brown and peering into him but angry, and then he lunges forward to snap his teeth over Richie’s earlobe. 

“ _Fuck_ , Eddie, what the fuck-”

“You’re fucking _mine_ ,” he says low into Richie’s ear, and all the blood drains from Richie’s face and flows lightning fast to his dick. 

“Oh fuck, _yes_ ,” he moans back into Eddie’s mouth, through Eddie’s desperate tonguing against his teeth, into the back of his mouth, like Eddie’s trying to eat him whole, and Richie can’t even grasp enough of what’s going on to let him. 

Eddie pulls back again, hands falling to Richie’s belt and flinging it apart. 

“Everyone else has had you but me because you think I don’t-” Eddie stares at him and Richie heats all over, watching mindlessly as Eddie undoes his pants and pushes them around his thighs, “You’re a fucking idiot if you think I don’t want you.” 

Eddie drops to his knees, cupping his hand hard around the base of Richie’s dick, still mostly soft until Eddie’s wet mouth follows up quickly. 

“ _Eds_ , oh _fuck_ ,” Richie swears, his hand digging into Eddie’s hair for purchase. “I love you, fuck, fuck, I love you too.”

Eddie slips his mouth free just to hiss “You fucking better,” into the side of his dick, then tongues around the head until he sucks it back down. 

Richie whines through a hysterical laugh, struck dumb in the face of his own fucking luck, which seems to be changing as every single tide washes over him. He’s got a room of friends outside who love him, and an angry little man sucking his cock into oblivion who loves him even _more_. It’s all Richie wanted but could never put a name to until now.

To be fair, Richie doesn’t know what Eddie’s blowjob skills are like when he’s not feeling a searing possessive energy, but when he _is_ , there seems to be nothing holding him back. He holds tight at the base of Richie’s cock and fits half of it in, then sucks in a breath and pushes even further down. He only lasts a second before pumping back up, but on the second go, Richie feels Eddie cough around him, and he moans without realizing. 

“Yeah,” Eddie rasps, licking up the shaft and staring up at Richie strong and determined, “did they let you fuck their mouths?” 

“Uh,” Richie says, hypnotized by the sight of his now-hard dick resting lightly on Eddie’s pink lips, waiting politely for the proceedings to continue. “Um,” he says again, and Eddie’s eyebrows go all crooked. 

“I can’t believe this shit,” he swears, the movement of his lips and tongue poking softly at Richie’s tip. The sensation kicks Richie’s hips forward into Eddie’s mouth in a quick thrust. Eddie moves back, abruptly pressing his mouth closed. “Don’t fucking test me, Rich.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Richie babbles, petting through the hair on the back of Eddie’s head, subtly trying to lead him back, “Mike and I kind of-”

“You fucked Mike’s face?” Eddie says, flat as an old Pepsi, his hand gripping tighter around Richie’s cock, his mouth perilously close to where a drip of pre-come is oozing out of the slit. Richie whines. The memory of being spread out on the bed with Mike, coupled with having Eddie kneeling in front of him, looking at him like _that_ could slowly destroy him. But Eddie is waiting.

“I- _yeah_ , we actually, uh.” Richie’s about to full-on blush, dick out, hands shaking. “We fucked each other’s faces.” 

Eddie releases Richie’s dick. He trails his hand down to grab at Richie’s balls instead, rolling one roughly in his hand as Richie doubles over from the pleasure. A strong desperation beats through him, he needs this, he wants it so bad his mouth is watering, his skin is on fire and Eddie keeps staring at him like he’s _disappointing_ him, making him really fucking _angry_. But it also looks like it’s _turning him on_. And it's doing the same to Richie.

“Did he choke on your dick?” Eddie’s eyes are dark where they hang on Richie’s. He gives no indication he’s aware of the iron tight hold on Richie’s balls, or that there’s a finger slowly moving toward his hole. Richie can think of nothing else.

“Eds,” he groans again like a sexually broken record. 

“Answer me,” Eddie says quick, circling Richie’s shivering hole, teasing his entrance with no promise of following through, “I want to know if he took you down like I could.” 

“Fuck, no, no,” Richie breathes, hips pumping forward at the suggestion.

“If you could hit the back of his throat and he’d keep going. If he’d forget to breathe with your cock in his mouth like I would, if he’d let you come in his mouth.”

Richie can’t breathe. He can’t hear past the deep pounding of his own heart and the words flowing from Eddie’s lips. 

“Your cock is so fucking big, I bet no one else could handle it right,” Eddie rambles, he keeps going, and Richie’s used to hearing him talk a blue streak but it’s usually not like _this_ , “So fucking hard and I’d take it _all_ like no one else could.” 

“Fuck, you could,” Richie pleads, “Please, please put your mouth on my dick, Eddie.” 

Eddie hums, lips finally stretching open, but for a wry smile. 

“Maybe later,” he says, then digs his fingers into the meat of Richie’s thighs and flips him around. Richie gasps as his hard dick collides with the bed. No matter how soft the fabric, the pressure is still too much, and he paws at it desperately to get some relief. 

Eddie stands behind him, a hand falling to the center of Richie's back and pushing until Richie’s spread out on the bed in front of him. He’s tall enough that his feet still hit the ground, but he feels like he’s floating on the strength with which Eddie is pushing him around. _It’s really fucking happening_ , Richie thinks, madly, as Eddie’s finger traces the bumpy lines of his spine. 

“I can’t fucking _believe_ -” Eddie huffs behind him, finger still making its way, and Richie holds in a laugh that dissolves in his chest when Eddie finishes with, “Did they eat your ass?” 

Flashes of a dark night, rocking on Ben’s cock in the back of a truck, the illuminated movie screen in front of them, a voice behind him, telling him to hold on. 

“Hfmfmmph,” is all Richie can manage. 

Eddie’s finger pushes punishingly against Richie’s hole, and he _squeals_ into the mattress. 

“Tell me, Richie,” Eddie scolds, holding his finger there, like Richie’s ass is collateral. 

“They- _yes_ , yes, Ben did.” 

Eddie’s fingers are gone in an instant. “ _Ben_?” Richie grinds his front against the bedspread, most likely staining the fabric, last time he looked he was _wet_. 

“Yes, Ben fucked me and came in my ass and then ate it out,” Richie says in a rush. No use beating around the… well. But he hears Eddie’s warbling behind him again. 

“He- what the _fuck_ \- you’re-”

Richie tries to sit up and turn around, punches out, “Eds, I want-” but Eddie quickly pushes him back into position.

“I told you to shut the fuck up.” 

Richie groans, reaching under himself to stroke at his dick, the pressure immense and overflowing under the duress of Eddie’s words. 

“I’ve been thinking about fucking you for _months_.” Richie’s cock jerks in his hand. He feels his ass cheeks being spread open, then a thumb pressed to his rim. “And you’ve been out there getting it from everyone else.” 

Richie opens his mouth to say “not _everyone_ ,” because, technically, it was only Ben, and also, _technically_ , Bill’s dildo, but then Eddie pushes his thumb into his hole at the same time his other hand lands with a hard _smack_ against Richie’s ass. 

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , Eddie,” he moans as the sting burns through his whole body. 

“Yeah?”

“Yuh-huh, yeah,” Richie gasps, desperate for another, and now it’s humiliation stinging at him, so fucking scared Eddie will deny him again, or that he’ll come as soon as Eddie touches him.

Eddie slaps him twice more, rubbing in circles over the raw skin before coming back to repeat. The sound of it is intoxicating, a harsh _slap_ _slap slap_ as Eddie grunts with the effort and Richie pushes back in hopes of turning red. Before Richie can ask, Eddie’s thumb digs further into his hole, and Richie wants to ask for a slap there, too, but Eddie plugs him up good instead. 

Richie feels a wiggling, wet pressure there next, and he almost blacks out when he realizes it’s Eddie’s tongue. This man really is hitting it from all angles. Overwhelmed, Richie reaches back to hold open his ass and finds it hot to the touch. Teeth bite down gently around his knuckle, followed by a tongue, playfully sucking at his finger, and Eddie slurps crudely and groans. 

“I’ve been thinking about taking you apart, fucking myself on you until you couldn’t breathe, and then fucking you until I’m done.” 

His tongue slips in where his fingers leave, swirling inside Richie, wet and slick, his cheeks wrenched open and quivering. 

“But you couldn’t fucking wait, could you?” Eddie asks, shoving two fingers back in his wake, pushing in easily with added moisture. “You’re too much of a slut, aren’t you?”

“ _Holy shit_.”

“Your huge fucking cock okay down there?” Eddie leaves him gaping again, sliding a hand under Richie’s thigh, pulling gently on the dark hair, and Richie wants Eddie’s mouth back on him, but he turns over slowly to show off his dick. “Fuck,” Eddie gasps when he sees it.

“I’m fucking _dripping_ , dude,” Richie says, hissing at the cool air that drives over him. He’s throbbing, heat flickering up and down his spine. Eddie eyes his cock and licks his lips. 

“What if I sat on that right now?” Eddie says. Richie’s head falls back, cradled in the winged box of his shoulder blades. 

“Please,” he cries. 

Eddie wraps a hand around his cock, thumbs over the line of a vein and Richie’s stomach jerks. It’s so fucking _good_. He wants Eddie’s hands all over him, he wants to drown in the darkness of Eddie’s eyes. Richie shouldn’t be surprised by Eddie’s raw tenacity, his intent on making him feel so good, on showing Richie he’s _Eddie’s_ , but yet, he did not see this coming - he should have visited _months_ ago. 

“How many of them did you fuck?” Eddie asks. Richie is delighted in a moment’s notice, finally something to give Eddie to himself, finally something he can _have_.

“None, none of them- I didn’t- Well. I tried to with Stan but I didn’t exactly make it,” he says. 

Eddie’s lips curl down into a grimace, a nasty line of dissatisfaction. “You just couldn’t wait to get your big cock inside him?”

Richie shakes his head, hair flicking from side to side. The thought of Eddie sitting on his dick is almost too much to take. Eddie’s own asshole gaping, waiting for him, hovering over him and sinking down until their hips line up. He wants to pound into Eddie so badly. Feel him from the inside, know what he sounds like when he’s being fucked.

“You know what,” Eddie says, slowly pumping his hand over Richie’s cock, so sensitive he could come at any moment, “Maybe I won’t let you fuck me after all.” 

Richie emits a tiny gasp. He’s not sure he’s following anything that’s happening, really, but like before, and as it will probably be again (god, he fucking _hopes_ this will happen again, what is even- no, no, not now), he’s falling into it with ease. His friends made it easy. And Eddie, eyes hot on him, heat blooming in his every move, finger tracing a cruel line over the tip of Richie’s waiting cock, makes it _frighteningly_ easy. 

“Maybe what you really need is for me to fuck you.”

Stars light in Richie’s vision. He remembers what Bill said. How Eddie- how Eddie _fucked Bill_. God, he can’t fucking wait. 

Richie’s nodding, head movements now all he’s capable of, when Eddie flips him around, pressing him back into the bed. 

“You need that, don’t you?” Eddie asks, prodding at his hole, then pulling away to move into the bathroom. Richie’s still nodding, still desperate, his pants still around his ankles. He wants to be fucked like this. He wants Eddie’s cock in his ass, to feel him slam in and take what he wants, to tell Richie he’s a fucking _slut_ and give him everything he fucking _deserves_. 

Richie hears the click of a bottle, and relaxation melts over him. He really thought Eddie was going to leave him hanging. The idea is… more than thrilling, left here for the rest of the party, ass up in the air waiting to be fucked, waiting for Eddie to return from hosting to finally give him what he wants. But Eddie crowds up against his back, and Richie lets himself feel the relief at long last. 

“I think you need my fucking cock, Rich,” Eddie’s already whispering, telling him, kissing over his back and tonguing at the notches on his spine like he’s trying to taste him again. Richie wants to kiss him, but he spreads his legs instead. 

“Need you to fuck me,” Richie whispers into the comforter. It’s an explosive yet boring pattern of blue fireworks, speckled turquoise and azure combining to overlap on the edges. Each one separate, but touching its neighbor, reassurance that it’s there. That they’re completing the pattern together. 

Richie braces himself as the blunt head of Eddie’s cock teases at him. 

He thinks of Mike’s fingers, of Ben’s cock, of Bill’s dildo. He thinks of all of them together, opening him up and readying him for this - for the press of Eddie inside, for the slow slide that picks up speed as Eddie grunts behind him, for the blunt rocking until Eddie bottoms out, until he’s fully sheathed, until Richie can feel the memory of each of them wash free while Eddie remains.

They breathe together. Richie can feel Eddie pulsing inside. Eddie’s forehead hits the back of Richie’s neck as he pants and pants and _whimpers_. Richie feels cracked open wide and free.

“Fuck, yeah, you needed it,” Eddie grits out. He sweeps a hand through the sweaty hair gathering at the back of Richie’s neck, and the tenderness spasms something through Richie’s abdomen. He can’t quite lift up enough to get a hand on himself, but the heavy, settling feel of Eddie inside him is almost enough. 

“I needed it so bad,” Richie sighs. 

Eddie rocks out, then freezes. 

Richie’s worried he’s about to call the whole thing off, pull a “what the fuck, dude, you really thought I was gonna _fuck_ you?” and it startles him how easily he’d believe it. But Eddie said he _loves_ him. He said he’s been thinking about this. Thinking about Richie while Richie’s been jumping between each of their friends trying to smooth over endless planes of hurt and longing. 

Instead, Eddie pulls out in one flush move. Richie whimpers, but then Eddie pastes himself against Richie’s back, rutting his dick into Richie’s ass. Richie wants to _see_ it, he hopes, he fucking _hopes_ Eddie will let him see it. It feels amazing. Richie can’t imagine how perfect it looks. He doesn’t care if that thing’s been in his ass, he wants it in his mouth, like, yesterday. 

Eddie’s still humping against him, breathing in his ear, pulling at the slightest extra give in his hips to rub their bodies together. Then he lines up, and slams back inside Richie’s hole. 

Richie _keens_ , throwing his ass back into it. He wants to feel the sting, wants to be taken and used, whatever Eddie wants, and the thought frightens him but it feels so _right_. It’s flashes of Bev in that truck, her eyes dark and wanting. Richie wanted it then, too, but he didn’t know why. Now he knows he wants anything Eddie will give him. 

And Eddie gives him a lot.

Every time things speed up, Eddie stops, pulls out, humps against the back of Richie’s thigh. Just when Richie thinks he’s found his bearings, rutting with the motions, about to spill into the bed, Eddie slaps his sensitive ass, and shoves himself back in. Before long, Richie can barely move, just a rag doll at the mercy of Eddie’s machinations, and that’s when Eddie starts fucking him in earnest.

Richie’s body quakes with his thrusts, hard and strong, his thighs clenched against Richie’s. The skin on his ass is assaulted further as they slap together, as Eddie pounds in faster and faster. He’s fucking relentless. _Relentless fucking_ , Richie thinks, gripping fistfuls of comforter and hanging on while Eddie works him raw from the inside out.

“You take it so fucking well for me,” Eddie gasps out. 

“ _Fuuuuuck_ ,” Richie groans through the jerking movements of them drilling as close together as they can. 

“Did they fuck you like this? Huh?” 

Humiliation drives through Richie. He shakes his head. “No, no, never.”

Damp fingers run over where they’re connected, where Eddie’s cock is sliding easily in and out of Richie’s ass.

“Did they touch you like this? Make you feel this good?” Eddie’s voice is ragged, wisps of anger boiling out from the surface. 

“No, fuck, _no_ , just you, Eds,” Richie tells him. Eddie grunts and Richie hopes he’s satisfied. That he’s making Eddie happy. 

“Yeah, fucking say my name.” 

A whimper escapes Richie again. He thinks of Mike’s mouth around him, Mike’s come dripping dirty down his face. “Eddie, fuck me, _please_.” 

A grunt. Another deep thrust, straining Richie’s rim. Hands stroking fast up his back and down over the curve of his ass. 

“I’ll bet you want all of us to fuck you, don’t you?” Eddie’s voice cracks when he says it, but Richie’s drooling into the bedspread, no longer able to string together enough constants to make a word. “I could lay you out, let them do what they want to you while I watch. Is that what you want? The memory of me inside you, fucking the life out of you, while they try their hand?”

Eddie’s running solo now, and he doesn’t seem to mind. Fucking Richie in a punishing rhythm, nailing his prostate so steadily the Richie can’t see straight, Eddie lets his mouth run.

“Maybe I’ll make you tell me that while you fuck them, huh? Make you tell me I take you apart like no one else? Would you like that?” he grunts, grinding in while Richie squirms, “They could fill you up while I tell them how to touch you. I’d have to tell them, because you come when I say, don’t you, Rich? You gonna come for me now?”

Teeth latch to the back of Richie’s neck, and Richie jolts from the deep, jagged _need_ inside him to come. 

“Mmmhmm,” he hums, biting at his own thumb to keep his shit together. 

“Come on my dick and maybe I’ll let you, baby,” Eddie says, his own thrusts shattering into broken pieces of what they used to be. His hips slam into Richie’s at half the pace, but Richie knows they’re both close. 

“M’gonna-”

“You want them to fuck you again?” Eddie rasps, stuttering and huffing. Richie whines.

“I- I- _yes_ ,” he admits.

Richie hears a faint laugh behind him. He feels Eddie’s fingers dig into his hips, clawing at his waist. 

“I knew you fucking did, you just can’t get enough, can you?” 

Richie shakes his head. It’s true. He wants it all. He wants to feel good, to have this again. To have it all again. He’s greedy and desperate and there to be used. He’s hard and leaking and humping into the bed with abandon. Flames spark through his stomach. 

“Come for me, right fucking now,” Eddie gasps, clearly already there, “Come for me and I’ll hand you right over, but only if I’m there to fucking _watch_ \- only if I’m there to finish you off, oh, fuck, _fuck_ -”

Richie comes, then, immediately, and it’s never happened, not like this. No matter how much Richie likes to think he’s a good performer, he’s never in his life hit his mark right on cue. This time, with Eddie fucking into him perfectly, with a heavy, hot dick coming deep inside him at the same time, it’s an easy ask. His whole body clenches, seizes and pulls at Eddie, both of them pulsing together, Eddie groaning in his ear, and Richie feels wrecked with each passing second. 

Eddie gives his ass one final slap, and they groan together, Eddie’s hips bucking into his, Eddie’s come filling him up, Eddie completing the chain and making Richie more hungry and more satisfied than he’s ever been in his life. 

They collapse in a solid, shivering line, Eddie quieting slowly, laying messy kisses to Richie’s back. Sweat breeds easily where they’re pressed together: Richie into the bed and Eddie into him in turn. The room reeks of it, of sex, of come, of sweat, of _human_ , but Richie doesn’t fucking care. He’s fucked out, his hard dick still straining underneath him for more. But Eddie peels himself off, pulls himself out, and flops onto the bed next to him. 

Richie sees him blurrily, despite still wearing his glasses. His eyes have gone foggy under the pressure, under the love, under the absolutely brutal dressing down he’s just received. Eddie is vibrant, nonetheless. Messy, dark hair and long lashes, red flushed chest where his shirt came off at some point. A ragged, crooked line of scar tissue runs down the center of him. Bitten lips, shaking hands, heavy lidded eyes. 

“Eds,” Richie breathes, ready to let it all spill, as if he didn’t before. Eddie watches him softly, a quick diversion from where he just was, all spite and jealousy with something to prove. 

Then his eyes fling wider over to the closed door of his bedroom.

“Holy shit, they’re all still _out there_ ,” Eddie says, jumping off the bed and rummaging around for his discarded shirt. Richie chuckles, still pancaked on his stomach, lube and come stuffed inside him. 

“Well, _yeah_ , Eds, you were having a fuckin’ party.” 

Eddie grimaces over at him, and Richie snaps his mouth shut. 

“I’ve gotta tell them to get lost,” he says, reaching toward the doorknob before hesitating. Richie presses up onto his elbows, his arms still wobbly as Eddie walks closer, and Richie half expects another slap for his comedic insolence. Instead, Eddie bends over at the waist, smooths a line under Richie’s eye with his thumb, and presses their lips together. 

It’s slow and soft, preening and gentle. Richie sighs into it, his body calming. Eddie holds at his face, cupping around his cheek, so cautious, such a departure from how insistently he was drilling Richie into the mattress mere minutes ago. But when Eddie pulls back, Richie sees the flickering of something behind his eyes. 

“Richie, I-”

A loud, suspicious giggle emanates from the living room. Both of them turn to look at the door. A lingering groan follows. 

Eddie squints back at Richie. 

“I’m going out there,” he says, eyebrows drawn. Richie pulls something like a shrug, still laid out on the bed without a care in the world. Eddie cracks the door, indiscreetly tucking himself back into his pants. Richie smiles back at him, torn between desperation to get fucked again and overwhelming, mind-numbing delirium. They’re in _love_. 

Richie opens his mouth to remind Eddie of that very fact when he notices Eddie’s jaw dropped most of the way to the floor, staring out of the now wide-open door. 

“What the absolute _fuck_ are all of you _doing_?”

Richie’s whole body clenches. 

* * *

“Calm down,” Richie hears Bev call from the other side of the door, before Eddie throws his hands up in anger. 

Richie skitters off the bed, his legs shaking as he gathers his pants up quickly, just to ensure a little dignity, even though the people outside this door definitely heard him being slapped, and being called a slut, and being fucked within an inch of his life. He can still have _standards of dress_. 

He rushes to Eddie’s side in the doorway and peers out into the living room only to catch a glimpse of Bill nestled deep into Mike’s lap. 

They’re in the midst of a bout of fevered necking, still fully dressed, thank god, not that Richie has any room to talk. Bill’s hair is a fluffy mess from where Mike’s hands are grabbing at it, their hips grinding in a circle atop one another. 

“ _Ho_ \- ly-” Richie starts, when Eddie slaps him on the chest. “- _ow_!”

“Oh, you fucking love it,” Eddie mumbles, and Richie feels his cock stir in his hastily done-up, rather damp pants. He’s still hard, and honestly, the sight of Mike and Bill going at it like teenagers is not… uninteresting. “Calm _down_ , Beverly? You’re in my fucking house!”

Richie’s eyes drag from where Bill is suckling at Mike’s ear over to where Bev is slouched down on the couch opposite. Ben is crouched on the floor, between her open legs, one hand cupped around one of her breasts through her shirt. From the flush on Ben’s cheeks, Richie can tell they were probably in the same state as Mike and Bill before Eddie opened the door. 

“Eddie, we could _hear you_ ,” she hisses back at him, “You think we’re all morons? We literally started talking about fucking Richie, who you’ve been _whining about for months_ -”

“ _Beverly_ ,” Eddie snaps, his foot stomping forward, just once, like a rabid horse straining at the racing gate. 

“-and you _dragged_ Richie into your room,” Bev continues, undeterred. “And then not five minutes later we heard some very suspicious noises that definitely sounded like you having your way with him.”

Ben smiles slowly, shrugging a shoulder. “She’s right.” 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Richie says, dragging his pants up an inch higher, “Let’s go back to this whole ‘Eddie whining about Richie for months’ thing, what is-”

“No, no, no,” Eddie cuts in, this time trying to shove Richie back into the bedroom, “we definitely do _not_ need to talk about that, Beverly is just being a horrible friend while also encouraging teen slumber-party antics in my _brand new home_.” 

Richie grins over at Eddie, who is clearly flustered, avoiding Richie’s eyes and instead glaring daggers at where Bev is unaffected on the couch. Richie wants to lean down and kiss him. Hold around the back of his neck and lick into his mouth. Maybe join Bill and Mike on the couch - it seems like there’s room. Bless Eddie for investing in enough furniture to fit all his friends at once. 

Eddie huffs incredulously, then points over to the laptop, where Stan and Patty are still sat next to each other in frame, but Stan’s face looks a little-

“What are _you_ two doing??” Eddie asks, and just then, Richie notices a blur of movement at the base of the picture.

“Patty,” Richie says, a laugh creeping out despite Eddie’s obvious rage, “are you really jerking Stan off like a fucking _master_ right now?” 

“Oh yeah, but it was unrelated,” she says, flapping her free hand in front of her and smiling, “I’ve been doing this since before you guys left.” 

Eddie slaps a hand over his face. Stan groans out a laugh, so Richie joins him. 

“So let me get this straight,” Richie says, chuckling gratuitously as Ben’s hand finally starts wandering, reaching under the hem of Bev’s shirt, “You were all chumming it up about your wild and wonderful Richie Tozier adventures, and that led you-” 

Bill stutters out a choked-off moan, now bouncing in Mike’s lap, totally unaware.

“- _here_?” Richie finishes. Eddie’s nodding next to him, gesturing out toward the room to encompass the absurdity for all of them, but Richie feels all his insides go warm and fluffy. A happy bloom of affection bursts through his veins, surrounded by his friends, who he now estimates might also have been bitten by the increased libido bug after returning from Derry. 

Fittingly, Beverly’s face scrunches up as she scoffs, “Don’t act like you two don’t want to join.”

Richie freezes.

“Join,” Eddie says back. 

Bev shrugs, but her smile gets about fifty percent more wicked. Richie’s seen that look before. 

“We were just following your lead,” Bev says, pointing between Richie and Eddie. Richie points over to Eddie instead. Eddie’s face turn stone cold. 

Strong, angry eyes are on Richie’s, and then he’s being pushed back into the bedroom. 

“Give us a second,” Eddie growls to no one in particular, and then manhandles Richie against the wall, the door still wide open, and presses their bodies together. He fists at the hair on the back of Richie’s head and absolutely ravages his mouth with tongue and teeth. 

“Shit,” Richie gasps out, still marveling at the beauty that is _kissing Eddie_ , all control and power and slick rhythm. Just when Richie sinks into it, Eddie pulls back. 

“You want to?” Eddie asks, low and gritty, and Richie’s whole body shivers. 

“Wh-huh?” 

Eddie’s grin is smug and it threatens to buckle Richie’s knees. A hand drags slowly up Richie’s chest. Richie wants Eddie’s mouth there instead, licking over his nipple, breath hot against his. He wants Eddie to kneel down and suck his dick again, or maybe flip the script so Richie can see what Eddie is packing. Richie knows it’s… big. Wait, what were they-

“Richie,” Eddie says, and Richie realizes there’s a soft palm gently pressed to his throat, “I said, do you want to? Like we talked about before?” 

Richie can barely think past Eddie’s fingers, tingling at the skin of his neck, the other held tight in his hair, but he thinks back to _before_. 

“Making a group… chat? Wait, no, that wasn’t you, uh.” The hand presses a little harder. Richie whines. Fuck, Eddie presses all his fucking buttons. “I don’t- I can’t think when you’re- I’m still fuckin’ hard, Eds.” 

Eddie drops his head, and Richie realizes he’s hiding a smile. 

“What I said. About laying you out,” Eddie says, and the thought comes together just as he’s explaining, “Letting them fuck you.”

“Eddie,” Richie breathes, heart pounding in his throat, safe under Eddie’s flexing grip. 

“I could make them all leave,” Eddie tells him, his eyes gone soft, “like I was going to before. I could kick them all out and we could fuck until the sun comes up.” 

Looking to the door, to the light curving in from the living room, Richie really thinks about it. He hasn’t seen Eddie alone in _months_ , and he sure would love to follow up on some of the promises they just made while Eddie had him bent over the side of the bed. Not to mention having an actual conversation, or, you know, something domestic like cooking or cuddling or watching trashy TV while they bicker and eat in bed. 

“Or,” Eddie continues, training Richie’s eyes back onto his, “I could take you out there. Let them have you. Tell them what you want. I know what you want, don’t I?” 

Richie wets his lips. Nods. Eddie raises one eyebrow, eyes flicking down to his hand is woven around Richie’s neck. 

Richie nods again.

Eddie’s fingers close tighter, pressure around the sides, and Richie’s eyes roll back into his head. He wishes Eddie were pressing into him like this, sweat dripping down onto him from the force of their fuck, choking Richie with his hand and filling his ass. 

“You can say no anytime,” Eddie says, seriously. 

Richie nods.

“Say you want them to fuck you.”

Richie whines. “I want. I want that.” Eddie tuts. His hand closes a little tighter. 

“Say it,” he repeats. Richie tries to get a fucking grip, his heart shuddering against his ribs, his cock rubbing unpleasantly against his gaping zipper, stuck tight between where Eddie is pasting Richie to the wall. 

“I want them to fuck me while you watch,” he huffs, his stomach twisting, then adds, “then I want you to make me come again, please, fuck, Eddie, make me come again.” 

Eddie hums, like that was the answer he was looking for all along. He leans in to rekindle their kiss, burning hot thin lips against Richie’s, teasing his tongue against Richie’s, hands holding against Richie’s neck and hair and Richie feels so treasured and protected he could cry. 

“That’s good,” Eddie says against his lips.

Richie’s throat bobs painfully under Eddie’s fingers, but pleasure seizes him all the same. It’s the first amount of praise Eddie has given him, and it reminds him of Bev telling Ben the same thing in their truck. He didn’t understand it at the time - what made it so exciting, what made Ben dazed at Bev’s kind, fawning words. But having Eddie tell him he’s doing well, to see how happy and pleased he looks fills out his cock more fully between them.

Eddie kisses him one more time, then says, “Should we just go with the red light, green light bullshit thing?” 

Richie blinks down at him. Licks the taste of him off his lips. Grinds ever so slightly forward, but Eddie cottons on. 

“Rich, I asked you a question.” 

Richie sighs, slumping down in Eddie’s hold. “Yeah, yeah, red light is fine but don’t, like, bother me with all the green light shit, I’m up for whatever.” 

“Don’t I fucking know it,” Eddie scoffs. Richie snaps out of it, just a little. He doesn’t want Eddie doing this for all the wrong reasons. What are the right reasons? Well, perhaps that’s making too complicated a deal out of this, but he at least wants to be on some semblance of the same page. 

“I’m just saying I trust you,” Richie tells him. Eddie’s eyes squint, then fall. His hand slides down to Richie’s chest, thumping once over his heart.

His lips pull into a reluctant smile.

“You fucking better,” he mumbles. 

Richie kisses at the tip of his nose. “You’ve got me,” he says, circling his hips between them again. “Now just tell me where you want me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are about to get even wilder, friends. This next chapter is currently clocking in at 12k, and should be out next weekend. HANG IN THERE I HOPE THIS SATISFIED YOU.
> 
> Love to my amazing GC, my server, my Heather and my Andie. 
> 
> Please leave me a comment if you're able, and as always, find me on Tumblr at [tinyangryeddie](https://tinyangryeddie.tumblr.com/) or Twitter, where I'm [camerasparring](https://twitter.com/camerasparring)!


	7. The Losers Come Full Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie enjoys a modicum of privacy in his life.
> 
> But with his friends, it's different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have arrived, everyone. This is the final chapter and woo, it is a doozy. Almost 17k, a third of the fic, and the chapter that, by far, gave me the most grief (except for the Bill chapter, jfc, that one almost k-worded me FOR REAL). 
> 
> Thank you to [Katie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tempestbreak/pseuds/tempestbreak) for beta'ing this chapter, this beast, and being generally amazing. Thank you, as always, to [Andie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adaptation) for the inspiration and the constant encouragement and also the hat. And thank you to the other lovely members of the [REDACTED] GC for literally group-thinking this fic into existence. I'm so glad this fic brought us all together.
> 
> Thank you to all my readers, I must stress this again just to be annoying: GROUP SEX IS HAPPENING. If you don't like that, please just leave. Like, please.
> 
> Chapter Tags: Group Sex, Orgy, Everyone/Everyone, Cunnilingus (by Richie), Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Face-fucking, Coming Untouched, Multiple Orgasms, Threesomes, Foursomes?, Spanking, Spitting, Possessive Eddie, A Little Choking, Dirty Talk, Spit-roasting, Double Penetration, Slut Shaming and Endless Love.

Richie enjoys a modicum of privacy in his life. 

Sure, he came out on Twitter. 

And sure, he used to talk frequently of his own masturbation habits on a public stage.

And sure, that public stage was often being recorded to be streamed online. 

But generally, he can keep his secrets. In the closet until age forty? That’s practically a master class in Hiding Your Shit, even if it comes with a required extracurricular of Trauma 101 and Lessons in Repression and Its Effects on Your Self-Esteem. And even if it wasn’t exactly so much a well-kept secret as it was embarrassingly uninteresting to most other people, considering he previously wasn’t getting enough for it to count, it was still a _thing_ always hovering over his life. 

But with his friends, it’s different. 

Eddie leads him into the living room by the hand. A weird sense of deja vu flashes over him. 

This time, the destination is the couch, not the bedroom. This time, their hands are tangled together, and Richie’s squeezing, not holding on for dear life. This time, Richie feels thrilled and horny as hell, not scared out of his mind and… well. Maybe the emotions are similar. 

Richie stops at Eddie’s direction, right in front of where Bev and Ben are stripping each other of clothes. Eddie pushes at Richie’s pants, still held up in a loose pool around his hips. 

“Get down on your knees,” Eddie says, all softness again depleted from his eyes. Now he’s back to business. A shiver drives up Richie’s spine. He fucking _loves_ it.

Richie slips out of his pants completely, then looks down to see Bev gazing up at him. 

“You want me to take care of him here?” she asks Eddie. Eddie presses his hands to his hips. Looks to Richie, like he’s considering, then back down to Bev. Richie hesitates to kneel, feeling some sort of pull of control between the two of them. 

Eddie turns to take stock of the room: Patty and Stan now locked at the lips on the laptop, Mike and Bill both now shirtless yet still in a hopeless grind on the other couch, and back down again, where Ben seems as intent on getting Bev out of her pants as Eddie was on getting Richie out of his. The fire in his eyes is palpable when he turns back to wrap a hand around Richie’s cock. 

Richie gasps, his hips jerking forward. He leans forward for a kiss, but Eddie moves back. 

“I’m gonna go join Bill and Mike,” he says instead, low, and Richie whines. He can see Bev watching them from his periphery. “Keep your eyes on me.” He thumbs over the slit gently. “I’ll watch you follow Bev’s instructions.” 

Richie pants as Eddie strokes over the shaft, up and down teasingly. Eddie’s other hand drags through the hair on his chest to pinch at Richie’s nipple.

“Fuck, yes, yes, okay,” Richie hisses. Eddie bends down, baring his teeth, and nips roughly at one, following it with his tongue, but when Richie groans, he pulls away completely. 

“Now get on your fucking knees,” Eddie tells him, unbuckling his own pants again. “Eyes on me.”

Richie nods, watching as Eddie seats himself on the couch only a few feet away. Mike and Bill finally seem jolted out of their fevered daze enough to notice when Eddie’s weight hits the cushion, because they break apart to throw him a pair of easy smiles. Something pangs in Richie’s stomach, something close enough to jealousy that it alarms him, but then Ben’s hand is on his arm. 

“Rich,” he says softly, and Richie looks down to see his other hand occupied with rubbing a slow circle over Bev’s clit. He almost gasps again. It’s like every time he looks away something more salacious happens.

Bev stares, all spread out, light skin and patches of darker hair collected under her arms and where Ben is touching her, getting her wet. Richie’s never been with a woman before, but he watches Ben’s thumb slick up, move easily through her, make her grip long fingers around the arm of the couch. When she lifts one foot to plant on the cushion next to her, she reaches a hand up to Richie, and that’s when he realizes he still hasn’t followed Eddie’s orders. 

“Get the fuck down here,” Bev says, just in case he needed the additional reminder. She rubs a hand at herself, then trails a sticky hand to circle around her own nipple. Ben leans up greedily to suck it off and taste her. 

“Whoa, okay, kneeling, yes,” Richie blurts, stealing a pillow to put between him and the ground. Ben removes his hand, and mouth, to let him get into position, spooning up behind him, and that’s when Richie feels something hard press in along his ass. 

“Ben’s going to fuck you, I assume that’s okay,” Bev says, and Richie considers looking to Eddie for permission, but then he hears _while I watch you follow Bev’s instructions_ and nods. “And you’re going to eat me out.” 

“Yes,” Richie says immediately, though it’s honestly something he’s never considered doing before. The chance presented itself in his mid-20’s, with a short, gangly brunette he met during a momentary lapse in judgment that led him to an improv class. She was severe and funny and really, really weird, and they made out a few times at group parties, but once the bedroom stuff factored in he gracefully made his exit out of that “relationship” with an awkwardly mumbled, scantly explained excuse and never went back to the class again.

But now, at the precipice, as it were, all presented before him, it seems like the most logical conclusion. The love he has for Beverly, and the massive respect he has at how she carries herself, how she commands control after a lifetime of it being out of her hands, makes him want to give her the world. Besides, the thought of being between Beverly and Ben, being used by both of them at the same time, them watching each other over him, all of them moving together again, floods him with happiness. 

And fuck, is he hard. 

He grinds back against Ben’s cock and spreads his hands out around Bev’s thighs. They’re soft and solid under his touch. The perfect contrast to the rough, scratchy hair of Ben’s legs. The hot press of his cock.

“Finger him, Ben,” Bev says, clearly pleased her plan is moving along swimmingly, but Richie shakes his head.

“No, no, I think I’m good.” 

Bev’s face twists up delightfully. “Richard.” Her legs bounce under his palms. 

Richie laughs. “What’d you think I was doing in there?” 

“I didn’t want to assume,” she says, and he throws his head back in another laugh. It thunks against Ben’s chest, whose arms come to wrap around him. He reaches a hand back to grab at Ben’s dick, and it feels just as good in his hand as he remembers. Fuck, he can’t wait to have it from this angle. Pressing in behind him while he bends over to give Bev what she needs. While he watches Eddie.

Richie looks over to see Eddie and almost comes on sight. 

Eddie’s spread out on his own couch, slouched down with his pants open. One hand is fit inside, stroking gently over the bulge already growing at his crotch. His eyes are solid on Richie, even though Bill is doing what looks a lot like fingering Mike right next to him. Richie feels a finger press to his own slackened hole, and it’s like caving in from both sides. From Eddie’s eyes, from Ben’s hands. It feels like both of them are touching him at once.

Bev reaches up to tangle her fingers with Richie’s. 

“Feel good?” she asks, eyeing around the bend where Ben’s now got two tucked inside, finding Richie slick and open already, rutting against him in anticipation. Richie flushes warm and it moves into a laugh. Laughing during sex with his friends now seems like a staple. 

“Real nice,” he says as Ben sucks a spot onto an upper notch of his spine, “real nice indeed.” 

“Mhm,” Bev hums. Her hand snakes down again, over her stomach and down between the folds of her… pussy? Is that sexy? Cunt seems a bit extreme for the situation. He makes a mental note to ask when there’s an organic opening. 

Richie’s daunted and intrigued, so he bends over to get closer, shifting back on his knees so Ben can continue fingering him. The change in angle shoots something up his spine, so he moans, pumping his hips back to get more. He gets lost in it fast, especially once Ben picks up speed, and once he looks back to see Ben’s other hand wrapped around his own cock, dripping out some pre-come onto his fingers, he feels lost in a sea of sex and they’ve barely started. 

“You should work yourself onto his dick,” Richie hears from the other side of the room, and looks up to see Eddie staring dark and heavy at him. 

It’s like being blanketed in Eddie’s vision, like his eyes are piercing into every part of Richie’s body, helping him along while simultaneously destroying him. 

Richie raises an eyebrow, burying his face in Bev’s thigh when Ben hits a good spot. He can feel the tip sliding against his own thigh, wet and hot to the touch, and he somehow wants Eddie to put that thing in him himself. 

Richie moans at the thought. Eddie feeding Ben’s cock directly into his hole. Pressing his own finger inside to make sure it’s snug. Slapping Richie’s ass to really get him moving. Watching Richie ride Ben’s dick until Ben comes inside him. 

_Fuck_ , he wants Ben to come inside of him again. He hopes Eddie lets it happen. Richie shivers. He hope Eddie _lets him._

“Richie,” Bev says softly, lifting at Richie’s chin where it’s pressed into her leg. Richie stares helplessly up at her, the slick sounds of Ben lubing himself up swimming through his brain, as well as the wet, loud, sounds of Bill doing the same thing with Mike across the room. And Eddie’s still staring at him. Just touching himself and waiting. Richie takes a breath in just as Bev says, “Put your mouth on me, Richie.

Richie lifts up, shifts his elbows to brace on either side of Bev’s legs. There’s a fair amount of hair around here, but nothing different than what Richie’s seen before. She spreads herself again with her fingers, revealing a stark pink and her own dripping hole, and Richie wants to press his tongue right there. From what he noticed before, she’s been aiming higher, so he leans down to smooth the hair against the grain and Bev practically purrs. 

“You know this is guaranteed to be a disaster, right?” he asks, and Bev shakes with a laugh underneath him. The scent of her is strong, thick in his nostrils. It’s like being steadily dipped in a pool of her. 

“Ben would give you tips, but I think he should probably focus on what he’s doing,” she says, flicking her eyebrows and throwing Ben a smile. Ben smooths hands over the curve of Richie’s ass, and Richie looks back to appreciate the view. Ben, dick straining up into his bellybutton, shiny with lube and pre-come, just waiting for Richie to take him. 

He turns back to Bev and moves his hand down further, slipping into her warmth. He grimaces. 

“Do you want me to call it… a pussy?” 

Her eyes go squinty before she rolls them and looks out to the room. 

“Does anyone have any pussy eating tips for poor Richie over here?” she calls, and Patty audibly cackles from the table. Richie wants to be embarrassed, but honestly, he could use the help. 

And what’s an orgy with friends for if not to learn something new? 

Richie turns to the screen to see Patty spooned up against Stan, much like Ben is to him right now. Stan’s gasping in her arms, his dick just out of sight, and Richie wishes he were there to swallow it down while she got him ready. Richie would let Stan fuck his face, would let Patty push him forward into the back of Richie’s throat so he could feel taken from both ends. 

“Just start slow, tease around her first, and then use strong, sure movements,” she says, then switches hands so she can gesture, ignoring the subsequent hiss and moan it draws out of Stan, “keep a fucking rhythm, I can’t tell you how important that is.” 

Richie makes mental notes. Slow. Strong. Rhythm. He rubs his thumb in a circle, right over where it seems her clit is. That one he knows, and he can _feel_ it, too. The swollen bump up near the top, up where her skin is hooded. When he presses just a little, she twitches against him. It must be the same with his tongue, right? 

“Actually, _huhh_ ,” Stan interrupts, just as Richie’s about to give it a shot, “Patty likes it when I switch it up. At least, at least, _oh,_ Pats, right there-”

Patty looks concerned. “Yeah? You ready yet?”

“Just shift a little, and press there, but faster,” Stan pants out. Richie huffs, his face literally inches from pussy. 

Pussy, that’s where they landed. 

“Guys. Focus,” Richie says, pushing his glasses up on his nose in preparation. Both of them turn to the camera. 

“Right, right,” Patty says, “Uh, I guess switch it up until you find a good motion she responds to, and then you _keep going_.”

“Yeah, don’t change anything if she likes it,” Ben says from behind him. Richie almost startles, so Bev pets a hand through his hair. “And circles. Lots of circles.” 

“That’s what I was going to say,” Bill adds. Mike gives him a look. Bill shrugs. “I was married.” 

“Eddie was married, too, you don’t see him saying anything,” Bev says from above. 

They all turn to Eddie, who is scowling, hand cupped over his dick in his pants. 

“Shut the fuck up and get to it,” he says. “Ben, put your dick in Richie’s ass or I’ll come over there and do it myself.” 

Richie hears Ben whisper “what the _fuck_ ,” behind him, but then he feels the distinct, blunt head of Ben’s cock pressing against his rim. Richie moans, moving back toward it, impaling himself on it just like Eddie asked. It slides in easy, still wet and open from where Eddie fucked him earlier, and Richie clenches just to hear Ben moan. Bev smiles down at him, and Richie dives on in. 

He starts with kisses against her skin, breathing in more of her to get himself acquainted, but really, he’s just curious. Overwhelmed with the deep press of Ben inside him, all of his walls seem to be coming down at once. He nuzzles his nose in, then mouths between her folds, gentling out his tongue to try for a taste. It’s not unpleasant, but also not a lot like sucking cock. It’s warm and encompassing this way, and as soon as he starts moving his tongue against the bump of her clit, he stares up to see her eyes flicker closed. Her leg twitches under his grip again, and he can sense his path to victory already.

Richie remembers Bev humming around Ben’s cock in the back of that truck, and tries the same into her, vibrating through his mouth so they can share the feeling. A moan slips from her and he almost smiles. He’s fucking _doing it_. 

“How’s it going?” Patty asks.

Richie throws out a shaky thumbs up to hear her giggle. Another Stan moan follows, but he’s a little too preoccupied to turn away and find out what that’s about. 

Besides, his eyes are on Eddie. On Eddie watching him. On Eddie watching where he and Ben are connected, where Ben’s dick is buried inside him.

“Push back faster, Rich,” Eddie says, so Richie does. Ben’s been cautious up until now, sliding into Richie in a smooth, gentle line before pulling back out. But after Richie’s show of confidence, he starts fucking in faster, rougher thrusts. It jerks Richie harder into Bev’s pussy, but that just seems to make Bev happier. Richie grips at her hips to bring her closer, slides a hand underneath her thigh so she’ll rest it up on his shoulder.

He focuses on the motion of his tongue, on the sopping wet circles he’s making, but Ben’s working him well now, fucking exactly where he wants it, and Eddie’s own hand is moving a little faster as a result. He clearly likes to watch Richie getting fucked, but Richie wants to push him over the edge. He wants so badly to see Eddie’s dick, to watch Eddie fuck his own hand. He wants to do whatever he can to make Eddie come, even if he can’t touch him himself. Even if he can’t get that thing down his throat.

Yet.

Bev’s writhing underneath him, bucking her hips into his mouth as Richie just tries to hold on. He truly did not expect to be very good at this, but apparently a little direction can go a long way. He makes another mental note of that for when he gets back into acting and focuses on keeping his breathing steady. 

He’s moaning in a rhythm along with his tongue, since the vibrations really seem to kick Bev into high gear. It could also be the acknowledgment that he’s feeling good, but either way, he keeps it up.

“Ben, slap his ass,” Eddie growls. Richie feels fire course through his stomach, but also a stutter in Ben slamming into his ass. He unlatches himself from Bev, panting wet, covered in her come. She bites her lip and fists a hand in his hair, knocking his glasses off-center.

“He’s not gonna do that,” Bev says, at the same time Ben says, pitifully, “I don’t think I can do that.” 

Ben rocks his hips in a few more times while Richie kitten licks, keeping up his momentum. He’s not about to mess this up right now, but he _would_ love to get spanked before Ben comes. He suddenly wishes he had a fucking cock ring - he has no idea how he’s going to last through the night. Especially if this is just round one. Bill and Mike seem content with whatever they’re doing next to Eddie on the couch, just grinding against each other, but Richie knows he wants, at some point, to have Mike’s dick in his ass. He wants Mike to come inside him. He wants _Ben_ to come inside him, too. All of them. Everyone. He wants to be passed around, left exhausted. He wants everyone to come, maybe even come _in him_ and leave him for Eddie. Take everything that they need, give him everything they have, and then let Eddie take the rest at the end of the night. 

The thought burns through him. Fuck, this has really opened up a whole new avenue of dirty fantasies. 

But for now: he wants his ass fucking _slapped_. 

“Just a small one?” Richie hedges, circling his ass back and raising an eyebrow, like that’s somehow tempting. 

Ben’s mouth pops open like a sad, gaping fish. A sweet, lovable fish with a six pack who would never hurt his friends, even if he’s asked, even if it’s in a _sexy_ way. 

“Look at him,” Bev interrupts, fingering at herself while Richie is distracted. “He’s not the spanking type.” 

Ben pouts, hips still pistoning his dick into Richie’s ass. Richie hears a long-suffering sigh from Eddie, then a few stomps, and suddenly, Eddie is standing behind him, parallel to where Ben is still slamming inside. A bolt of strange excitement cuts through Richie at the sight, at Eddie being close, at how badly he wants Eddie to touch him. 

“Have to do every goddamn thing _myself_ ,” Eddie hisses, and smacks Richie hard across his left cheek. 

Richie fucking _jolts_ , and almost comes, but he has no idea- he doesn’t know what he’s allowed to-

“Eddie,” he breathes, and Eddie leans down slightly to hear better, his hand already swinging in preparation for another hard slap. 

“Yeah, Rich? You want more?”

“No,” Richie shakes his head, then mentally retracts, because- “Well, _yes,_ yes, I fucking do, but- can I? When can I come?” 

Eddie’s smirk is so filthy it’s as if he slapped Richie again. It flashes across his face for just a moment before he presses his lips together into a straight line, like he’s trying to appear unaffected. 

“You can come after Ben comes inside you,” Eddie says, and Richie whines, Ben’s hips having picked their speed back up as he clearly gets close. “You can come each time someone unloads in you, but you better have one left for me.” 

“For… for you?” Richie asks, his head full of fuzz, his ass stinging from Eddie’s swing, his hole absolutely ravaged as he glances down at Bev’s heaving chest and her circling finger. 

Eddie nods. “When everyone has taken care of you, you’re going to come in my mouth, Rich.” 

“Fuck, _fuck_ , Eddie,” Richie gasps. Ben’s stuttering behind him, fucking in hard, and Richie can feel the rushing in his stomach, the tingling traveling all the way down to his balls. He wants to come in Eddie’s mouth so badly - wants Eddie down on his knees, staring up at him with wide, expectant eyes, waiting for a load right down his throat.

“Ben,” Bev says calmly, “are you going to come inside Richie?” 

“Yeah,” Ben breathes, clearly overwhelmed. Richie’s eyes are still heavy on Eddie’s. It waves over his body like a layer of water, like Eddie is simply part of him now, but he probably always has been. Maybe he’s been there through each time, guiding Richie’s body. It’s fucking ridiculous, but _fuck_ , this whole thing has been. Richie’s more than willing to believe in a little nonsense after what he’s been through.

“Richie,” Bev gets his attention, and Richie snaps back to her eye line instead. He still catches a glimpse of Eddie moving back toward the couch, his offer and challenge still hanging in Richie’s mind. The pot of gold at the end of the rainbow: coming in Eddie’s mouth after doing a good job. 

“Beverly,” Richie says back. Ben pounds him, the sweat slick between them, Ben’s hands pressing bruises into Richie’s thighs where he’s holding. Bev points down to where she’s pleasuring herself in Richie’s absence, an implied _let’s get this show back on the road_ lingering.

Richie hops to it as Ben aims for his prostate, the smart fucker. 

Literally.

As soon as Richie’s mouth is again occupied, he feels the beginnings of his orgasm burning through him, and it hits him, vaguely, how this is definitely a position he never thought he would find himself in, but goddamn, is he glad to be here. He focuses on the rough circular motion of his tongue, moaning gratuitously into Bev’s pussy as Ben rocks back and forth and begins to come apart. Hanging red and neglected between his legs, Richie’s cock throbs, but Richie feels it - he knows he’s going to come untouched from the way Ben is nailing his prostate, and then, blissfully, he does. 

“Hnnngg,” he breathes into Bev’s skin, into the wet give of her, and she grabs a chunk of his hair in her hand to pull closer and closer as he comes between them. At the last second, Richie looks up to see Mike crawling over to where Eddie is sitting on the couch, and then- 

It’s Eddie’s cock. It’s _huge_ , bigger than Richie imagined after feeling it inside of him. It’s long and slightly wide, though not as wide as his own. Eddie’s hand is pumping over it, smearing wetness he’s clearly gathered from watching the show. Eddie finds Richie watching him, mouth still buried over Bev, Ben’s dick still fucking deep into his ass, and licks his lips, and Richie feels several familiar sensations all at once.

The first is… well. In college, they called it a brown-out. Usually it happened after a night of drinking. Taping two forties to his hands, chugging through a hose: the classics. It wasn’t intense enough to be a black out, and Richie usually remembered bits and pieces from the night before, though they were fuzzy. When he falls apart among Bev and Ben, being pushed and pulled, it feels like his soul has left his body. Though perhaps when he’s finally able to put his brain back together, he can chalk it up to the familiar brown out after all. 

The other sensation, of course, is the mind-numbing, thigh-quaking, life-changing orgasm that one retains from being on the receiving end of Ben Hanscom’s ever-giving cock.

Richie’s own cock drips with come, gathered wet and sticky around the head, still hard and waiting for someone to touch it. Ben pulls out carefully, leaving Richie gaping and full of his come, though Richie knows there’s much more where that came from. Bev is still thrashing underneath him, and Richie picks up the pace once he realizes he’s been slacking during his own come-to-Jesus (Eddie) moment. And that reminds him.

Looking over to Eddie on the couch, he finds almost a completely new situation unfolding before him. 

Mike’s mouth is slotted over Eddie’s (perfect) cock, his eyelids heavy where he’s focusing on the job. Richie knows from first-hand experience how good Mike is at this, and he shivers at the memory. It’s something he and Eddie share now, and Richie wonders for a moment if that’s something they’ll discuss, after. Trading stories, tales from their journeys through the Losers. 

Richie also kind of doubts this will be the last time something like this happens. They’re all far too eager to keep each other close, and this feels like the cementing of something they all thought they had lost long ago. 

Bev bucks under him, her fingers scratching rough against Richie’s scalp as she groans, and groans and _groans_ , and that last one really seemed like a scream, so Richie keeps going, keeps his tongue moving at the same speed in the same direction lest he ruin it right in the midst of Bev coming undone. After a few heavy thrusts of her hips up into his face, she settles, body dropping slack against the cushions. She taps at the top of his head and he pulls back gently, moisture clinging to his chin and lips and cheeks. 

“Did I do it?” he asks.

She waves a hand at him. “You did it, you asshole.” Ben laughs behind Richie, tapping at his hip next. 

“Good job, man.”

Richie anchors himself on Bev’s thigh, pressing up until his back is straight. It cracks under the duress. At his hiss of pain, he hears a snort emanate from across the room. He looks up to see the Uris Stare, directed pointedly at him.

“Stan,” Richie starts, taking in the whole view: Stan on his stomach, Patty flat on top of him, both of them fully nude except for the harness snug against Patty’s hips. She’s pressing into him slowly, taking her time, and Stan is resting his head on his folded arms on the bed, his eyes occasionally rolling back into his head, and evidently, still keeping an eye on the proceedings halfway across the country. 

He’s a fucking marvel, and Richie loves him. The harbinger of all this. But then again, perhaps that’s Patty. Patty and her magic margaritas and her insistence on helping her husband live his dreams. 

Richie softens, despite Stan’s gentle barbing at his aging joints. 

“Feelin’ good, Stanny?” he asks, and Stan groans into his arms.

“Mhmm.” 

“Wish you were in my place, Richie?” Patty asks, her voice amazingly steady and controlled considering what she’s doing. Her face is cheerfully pink, holding herself up so her pelvis can do most of the work. 

“Little bit,” Richie admits, then looks to Eddie, his mouth hanging open from Mike’s smooth, gliding lips jerking up and down around his cock, “Though I think I have some interesting prospects still left in the room.” 

Patty giggles, she fucking _giggles_ while she fucks her husband slowly and presses small kisses to his back. Richie goes to wrap a hand around his own cock at the sound, then hesitates when he hears Eddie.

“Don’t you dare touch yourself, Rich,” he snarls. 

Richie’s cock jerks. “I wasn’t-”

“You fucking were, now get over here.” 

Richie knee-crawls over to where Eddie is, the throbbing pain lost in his need to do what Eddie wants. Mike licks around the head of Eddie’s cock a few times before pulling off for good, scooting out of the way and over to Bill. It’s then that Richie really notices all the smooth, naked skin in the room. It’s oddly comforting to know he’s not the only one.

Bev and Ben are both completely without clothes, rutting against each other on their own couch now that Richie is out of the way. Stan and Patty, too, fucking a little faster, their bodies rocking together while Patty starts to give it to him harder. Mike’s mouth has found Bill’s quickly, between Bill’s knees now, pressing him down into the couch.

Eddie’s pants are shoved around his thighs, his hand pumping up and down over his spit-wet cock, waiting for Richie to zero back on him. And when Richie does, the fucker _smiles_. 

“You ready to take Mike, Rich?” he asks, his hand lazing over himself.

“Fuck _yes_ ,” Richie groans, meeting Mike’s eyes where he’s grinding against Bill. “I’ve been waiting for this.” 

Eddie’s brow flinches at that. “I think you forgot the point of this, Richie.” 

Richie gulps. Follows the wet line of Eddie’s tongue as it grazes over his lips. 

“Right.” 

Eddie’s lips purse. “Say it.” 

Richie looks around the room. Sure, everyone is occupied, but it still rolls his stomach. He knows what Eddie wants. He knows what Eddie wants him to feel. And fuck, he wants to feel it. 

“You fuck me best,” Richie mumbles. Eddie’s eyes go dark, his hand keeping a consistent speed.

“Good,” Eddie says, jerking his head toward where Mike is now sucking Bill’s cock. Bill’s eyes are wide and amazed, staring down at Mike’s bobbing head like he’s witnessed the first coming of Christ. Even through the pleasant buzz of Eddie’s praise, Richie feels proud of him. That guy has a life of amazing blowjobs ahead of him, and he’s only now getting the first taste of it. 

“You two.” Eddie taps at Mike’s shoulder. “Someone needs to put their mouth on my dick.” 

Richie moves another inch forward at the offer. “I-”

“No,” Eddie snaps, hand stilling on himself. “You’re gonna let Mike fuck you, because you do what I say now, don’t you?” 

Richie’s stomach pulls. He nods. 

“Good,” Eddie says again. Richie shivers. Shifts unsteadily on his knees. They’re going to ache tomorrow, but he can already tell it’s worth it. Hell, he’s come twice and he’s nowhere near done. 

Mike lingers as Eddie and Richie watch, taking Bill down far until Richie sees his throat bob in a swallow. Bill groans and flinches, his hips pinned down by Mike’s large hands. 

“Fuck, Mikey,” Bill whines when he realizes he can’t move. Richie shivers at the memory of Mike’s strength, watching his fingers press into Bill’s thighs as he drools around his cock. “Want you to fuck me so badly.” 

Richie watches Mike’s lips quiver around Bill, his eyes flickering as Bill watches him back with rapt attention. An overwhelming wave of pleasure hits Richie square in the stomach, but then Eddie’s hand wraps around his arm. 

“Go get some pillows, I want you on the floor in front of me.” 

Richie nods, turning to the armchair in the corner, stacked with extra pillows discarded from the party. He throws a few of them at Eddie’s feet, unsure of their purpose but happy to follow orders. 

“Mike,” Eddie says, tapping again, and Mike finally pulls off Bill’s cock, mouth shiny with spit and pre-come. Eddie opens his mouth to continue, when his eyes flash with a change. “Richie, clean off Mike’s mouth.” 

Richie groans, a deep burning in his gut as he meets Mike in the middle, their lips pressing together. A strong blast of a heavy scent stings at Richie’s nostrils as he breathes in. Mike wraps a hand around the back of his neck, reeling him in closer, slotting them together until Richie gets the clue. He laps his tongue out greedily, leaving spit in the wake of come, sloppy and desperate and dirty, Mike’s bare thighs tickling his as he loses himself in it. 

When Richie opens his eyes, blown apart and still hard, Bill is settling onto his knees right in front of Eddie, whose own knees are gripping around Bill’s rib-cage. Richie longs for an acknowledgment of the job well done, but Eddie is already moving onto the next task, eyes heavy where Richie’s cock curves up against his belly. 

“Get behind Bill,” he tells Richie, voice rough like he’s been sucking cock. Richie almost goes to touch himself again, then remembers Eddie’s scolding from earlier. God, he wants to come again. He wants to keep coming until his body can’t take it anymore. 

As soon as he’s up against Bill’s back, Mike slides behind him, all of them taking a pillow. Bill gets the most comfortable one, space for both his knees, but Richie side-steps whining and focuses instead of the hot, hard press of Mike’s cock between his ass cheeks. Mike’s already busy with lube, apparently ready to get to it. 

Bill’s bent over in front of him, the tantalizing curve of his ass spread out like a treat for Richie to gorge on. There’s not enough space for him to lean over completely, though sticking his tongue in Bill’s hole while Eddie watches him sounds more than thrilling. Instead, he palms his own cock, rubbing it gently around where Bill is warm and open. 

“Fuck, Richie,” Bill says, mouthing at the skin on Eddie’s thigh, licking at where Eddie’s fingers are wrapped around his cock. “Put it in.” 

Richie bites a lip, happy to do just that, when Eddie practically jumps off the couch.

“Richie!” Eddie cries, his dick slapping Bill clear across the cheek like a hard, red, leaking paddle. Richie vaguely sees a line of pre-come smear over his skin.

“What the f-”

Eddie points a rigid finger at him, over Bill’s head. “Don’t fuck him.” 

Richie goes hot. “I-”

“You can use your fingers,” Eddie says, and Richie nods, confusion still boiling at the surface. 

Then Eddie settles back down into the couch, taking hold of his dripping cock and feeding it back into Bill’s mouth in one swift move. Bill’s too blissed out on dick slaps and Mike’s undying love to even cotton on, taking it easily, moaning around it like a highly anticipated meal. Richie groans at the sight, so deliciously slutty and controlling, and he hears Mike echo it in sympathy just as a finger prods at his hole.

“I’m just gonna push in, man, you’re really ready to go,” Mike says with a laugh. Richie pushes back into him, nodding heavily as he spreads Bill’s cheeks to trail a finger down the crack. 

“I am but your hole to use, Michael.”

“Fuck, don’t ruin it,” Mike hisses, the head of his cock breaching Richie quickly. There’s really no point in him going slow - Richie’s had enough to take it in stride, and that he does. 

They set a brutal rhythm right off the bat, and Richie assumes most of it has to do with the fact that both of them are watching the loves of their lives fuck each other right in front of them. Bill’s mouth hangs sloppy off Eddie’s cock, and the pinched frustration evident on Eddie’s face is enough to make Richie wish he could close the distance between them for a fucked-out kiss. Instead, Richie keeps a strong eye on Eddie, hoping to catch his gaze, and when he does, it burns through him like fire. 

“You look so fucking good,” Richie manages. Eddie’s hips twitch under Bill’s movements, but his eyes are all for Richie. Dark and wanting and interested. 

“Want you to _feel_ good,” Eddie says back, some of the mask slipping, and Richie’s heart lurches. He nods, smiles, tries to convey how good it all feels, how good Eddie makes him feel, how good he wants Eddie to feel, too. 

Eddie smiles back, and Richie thinks maybe he knows. 

Mike pounds in hard, so Richie does the same to Bill. One finger, then two, opening him up more graciously than Eddie did to him, but still not suffering any fools. Bill moans and groans and whines, spit dripping down his chin as Eddie starts lifting his hips, fucking into his face. Eddie bites hard at his bottom lip with the effort, and Richie wants to give him more, wants to fuck his face onto Eddie’s cock too, somehow, so he funnels it into fingering the life out of Bill instead. 

Bill jerks between the two of them as Eddie meets Richie’s eyes, his hand in Bill’s hair, his other running happily over Bill’s cheek to feel himself slide in and out. When he hears Bill choke around Eddie’s cock, Richie’s dick jerks, wanting so badly for that to be him. 

“Fuck, fuck, yeah, Bill,” Mike moans. In any other circumstance, it might make Richie feel forgotten, clearly a proxy for the two of them to fuck, but he feels grateful instead, a flurry of delight flinging itself happily through his stomach. 

“Fuck me, Mikey,” Richie groans out, and Mike does, snaps his hips harder, and Richie feels himself closing in on coming yet again. 

“You wanna come again, baby?” Mike holds Richie around the throat, pressing only gently, and Richie groans at the memory of Eddie doing the same. His eyes flick to Eddie for permission.

“I’m gonna come in Bill’s mouth, but I want you to save it, Richie,” Eddie groans in response. Bill’s head bobs faster, the speed of Eddie’s hips calming down as he takes control.

“Please, _please_ ,” Richie cries, because he’s halfway to losing it. Mike groans out a laugh, holding steady inside, but Richie feels him shuddering.

“Eds, I think I’m about to come inside him.” 

Eddie shakes his head, like that can stave it off all on its own. But then he says, eyes hot on Richie, “Want both of you in him.” 

“Oh _fuck_.” Richie almost collapses on the spot, his fingers still lodged inside of Bill. Eddie swipes a hand through the hair falling into Bill’s eyes, and that small show of affection almost brings Richie to the breaking point. 

“You want that, Richie?” 

Richie pushes back harder against Mike, taking him deeper, the pain and pleasure mixing through his abdomen as Eddie pants, sounding more ragged by the second.

“I fuckin’ want it.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs, then moans, higher, then higher, his hips working hard, fucking into Bill’s face, and just as Richie sees his body go taut, Eddie looks straight into Richie’s eyes. 

It blows him apart, bit by bit. The shaking, clawing way Eddie comes deep in Bill’s mouth, the slow, simmering whine he releases as his hands relax in Bill’s hair. Mike stutters and stops himself, short of coming inside, but Richie barely notices under the strain of Eddie’s stare. Then Eddie is collecting himself almost as quickly as it happens.

“Get up on the couch, Richie,” he says, and Richie’s powerless to stop himself. At this point, he’s not even sure if his brain is involved in this process at all or if his body is moving by command alone. 

Richie sits up on the couch, spreading his legs from the throbbing feel of his ready cock, pointing up from his crotch. Eddie’s still next to him. Their knees butt together, and Richie has cloying flashes of sitting next to each other at the lunch table, at Bill’s house, at the table at the Jade, their bony knees colliding, their bodies aching to touch even when they didn’t know what it meant. 

By some act of God, Eddie bends over to swallow around Richie’s cock, down to the root and then back up, just once. Richie pistons up to follow him, but he’s gone before it even registers, the drip of his saliva the only evidence it happened. Then, as Bill and Mike are approaching him to situate, Eddie sighs, “Can’t wait for you to come in my mouth.” 

The tension in Richie’s body threatens to snap like a rubberband. 

“ _Eddie_ , I’m on a hair trigger here- I’ve never come this many times-”

“I was going to say: this is rather impressive,” Bev says from across the room. Richie realizes he’s lost sight of her in the fray of dicks and blowjobs, and then finds her under Ben’s hefty weight, legs slung up almost to her head, taking a slow and gradual fucking as they watch the proceedings. 

When he looks to the laptop, Stan and Patty are in a similar position. 

Richie points between all of them, now distracted away from Eddie’s absolutely searing foreshadowing. 

“Are you all taking tips from each other?” 

Bev laughs, face red, then reaches down to take hold of Ben’s perfect, circular ass in her hand. “We wanted a little part of what you were getting, too.” 

“Yeah, Rich, let the men fuck,” Patty agrees, and she and Bev share a laugh like they’ve really pulled one over.

“You’re preaching to the choir, ladies,” Richie says, at least three dicks in his immediate eyeline. Not to mention the ones he knows are buried in both Patty and Bev right now. He’s awash in them, pleasantly buzzed on the knowledge that he shares that with them, until he sees Mike’s jaw set unhappily in front of him. 

“I need to sit there,” he says, and Richie considers the implications of what they’re doing for perhaps the first time. The mechanics of fitting two cocks in him at once aren’t only intimidating, they’re a bit… complicated. But the furrow in Mike’s brow indicates he at least has a better plan than Eddie, who’s simply spread out, post-orgasm, watching with lazy, floating eyes.

“You just tell me where to go,” Richie says back. Mike hums, helping lift Richie by the hand and seating himself in his place. 

“Sit back on me like this.” He motions for Richie to straddle his thighs, his long, dark cock drooling fluid enticingly. 

“Yeah, hop on, Rich,” Bill says, one of his very first contributions since he blew this whole thing wide open. Richie shakes off the tendrils of bitterness. If not for Bill- 

A lot of things wouldn’t have happened if not for Bill. It’s a rather large spectrum of events, but Richie could never have predicted _this_. 

Richie licks his lips, eyes bouncing between where Eddie is drawn out and Mike is waiting for him. Heavy praise from Bev rings in his ears, Bill’s hand rubbing a line down his spine, Patty signalling she’s close as Stan groans desperately in anticipation. He briefly wonders if a person can be horny from love, but climbs on to start grinding happily in Mike’s lap instead of putting much thought into it. He revels in the teasing press of Mike’s cock against his hole before Bill reaches forward to guide it inside of him. 

“Rich,” Bill breathes hot against the small of his back, his hands sweeping greedily up toward Richie’s neck. “That feel good?”

Richie hardly has to adjust. He nods as he blinks away the tears that form from the pure _feeling_ of it. Mike holds him gently around the ribs, and strong with his eyes, pushing up, testing the waters, and Richie moans with it. Having him inside is so good, but he wants more. He looks over to where Eddie is touching himself again, his cock half-hard and recovering, curving up toward his bellybutton like it realizes it needs to re-engage. 

“Need more,” Richie tells him, and Eddie’s eyes finally perk up, snapping back into control. He shifts up on the couch and grabs at Richie’s ass, spreading the cheeks and pressing a kiss right under where Mike has him pinned at the ribs. 

“He’s ready for another.” 

Bill huffs. “I’m- going,” he says, like he’s trying to fit a square peg in a round hole. Last time Richie looked, it wasn’t quite _square_ , so he’s not sure what’s taking so long. 

“Are you serious right now?” Eddie’s waving his arms, and Richie feels some fumbling around his hole until another strong pressure occurs.

A harsh sting of breath hits Richie’s face as Mike adjusts, squirming under him.

“Holy fuck.” Mike squeezes his eyes shut. Bill drapes himself over Richie’s back, sliding his dick in a little further. 

“That okay, Rich?” Bill asks, and Richie nods before he realizes it. He just wants _more_. It’s tight and overwhelming and he can’t tell who is touching what, but he wants it all and then some. 

“Bill,” Mike sighs. Richie looks up to see him staring at Bill over Richie’s shoulder, so Richie switches to watching Eddie instead. It oddly feels like a moment between the two of them he shouldn’t interrupt. Bill moves in deeper and Eddie’s eyes shine with wonder as he watches. 

“ _Eddie_.” 

Eddie pushes a finger alongside Bill’s cock, making its way, and the sharp sensation almost rocks Richie out of his body completely. 

“Eddie, is it- am I-” Richie sniffs, tears eking out again against his will, and Mike reaches up to wipe one away. Eddie’s still staring down in wonder at where he’s being split open, so Richie focuses back on Mike instead. 

“You’re so good, Rich,” Mike says softly, cupping a hand at the back of Richie’s head to reel him in for a kiss. Richie’s not sure if it’s allowed, but he goes with it, mouthing in slowly while Mike leads with his tongue, hands skating around Richie’s shoulders, but they could be Bill’s, who’s about to bottom out. 

Mike’s mouth is so warm and inviting, weaving around his like it’s another way to fuck him: gently, preening, working himself inside like he’s asking. He’s circling his tongue against Mike’s when he feels a wet prodding at the edge of his mouth and he realizes it’s Eddie working his way in, too. 

“Eds,” Richie says, turning to give him a taste, hanging fucked out with two dicks working their way to comfortable inside of him. 

“Can we move?” Bill asks, and Richie dives into Eddie’s kiss with a nod. He doesn’t care anymore. He just wants it. He wants what anyone will give him. 

The floating sounds of other people coming to orgasm assault Richie’s senses in that moment, in the space between kissing both Mike and Eddie, between Mike thrusting upward and Bill thrusting forward, between the two of them tangling hands against Richie’s hip and letting it spur them on. Bev’s voice is perhaps the loudest, a long, luxurious medley of her pleasure, but Richie loses track of it. He loses track of how long he’s settled there: in Mike’s lap, in Bill’s arms, in Eddie’s eyeline, in Eddie’s mouth, tacked onto Eddie like a band flyer onto a cork board. Desperate and just waiting for the next person to rip off a piece. 

Eddie grows impatient against his tongue, breathing dirty words of encouragement as Richie whines over the stretch. 

“You’re taking them so good, baby, you’re such a fucking whore for it,” Eddie’s telling him, making a slow move up and down Richie’s chest with his hand, inching toward his red, aching cock before deciding against it. Richie can practically feel the touch of his fingers on it, the way he’d grip tight and slow, how he’d stroke him and make him feel complete. Even the tease of it is enough to drive him crazy. 

“I love it,” Richie whines, humping down against Mike’s lap. It sets off a flurry of groans, a domino effect starting and ending with Richie himself, and then there’s another set of hands around his shoulders, down across his arms, and he barely has the wherewithal to turn around and see who it is. At this point, it doesn’t really matter.

“You love my tongue in your mouth,” Eddie moves on, dragging a hand through the sweat accumulating at the nape of Richie’s neck. Richie nods. He’ll keep nodding. He loves it all.

“I think he needs something more,” says a sweet, soft voice from behind him, and that’s when Richie figures the hands are Bev’s. Ben’s somewhere in there, too, the immediate heat of him evident, and maybe it’s his hands, maybe it’s all of their hands, maybe Stan and Patty have run through the screen just to touch him, just to make him feel surrounded and loved like they’re all doing right now. 

“Yes, please, please,” Richie groans. 

Eddie laughs, quiet and pleased. Richie leans back to angle Bill’s cock in him, oversensitive and unsure if he’s going to be able to come again. He wants to come so badly for Eddie. For all of them. 

“Ben, come up here,” Eddie says, moving around on the couch, bouncing them a little on the cushions until Richie sees Ben appear in his eyeline. Then an unrelenting pressure grips around Richie’s neck. 

It’s Eddie’s hand again. Richie’s eyes roll back in his head. 

“You want me to hold you for him, Rich?” Eddie licks crudely over Richie’s lips. Bev’s fingers prod at his over-stretched hole. Ben’s still-hard cock presses into his view, Ben’s hand wrapped around the base, waiting for the go-ahead. Eddie’s eyes are wild. “You want me to feed his cock into your mouth so you can have enough?” 

“Mmm,” Richie moans, hoping that conveys that _yes_ , he would like to be absolutely filled, and that _yes, definitely_ , he would like Eddie to be the one filling him. 

“I thought so, you’re gonna look so good with a cock in your mouth,” Eddie says. His hand is curling through the hair at the back of Richie’s head, his other gripping at his throat, keeping him in place. Richie’s breathing goes wonky after a few delayed seconds, after Eddie stares him dead in the eye, daring him to gasp, just so he can feel his throat flex under his fingers. 

“Hhnnng.”

“Take him, Richie,” Richie hears. It might be Bev, or maybe Patty, or maybe it’s Stan, and he’s really lost any ability to be discerning. It doesn’t really matter. He’s so wanted and loved he could cry. He does cry, he _is_ crying, from the strong, slow, fucking pressure of Mike and Bill’s cocks needling him from the inside out, filling him up and yet just a taste of what’s to come. 

Eddie’s hand loosens its grip as Richie sees Ben’s cock leading toward his mouth, a pair of hands guiding it there, and he leans forward to accept it inside, to lick around the head with Eddie still around him, keeping him held tight. 

“Fuck,” Eddie whispers. His lips press to Richie’s temple, and then he peeks out his tongue to clean off the sweat that’s collecting there. Richie groans around Ben’s cock. He can’t handle it. Ben starts pumping inside, hardly holding back, and Eddie is nodding in encouragement, laying kisses against Richie’s cheeks, against the shaft of Ben’s cock, ducking his head down to kiss gently at the weeping head of Richie’s cock in turn. 

“Is this the cock that fucked you so good, Rich?” Eddie asks, husky and dazed, and Richie’s chest flutters with the memory of it. Eddie slobbers alongside where Richie’s mouth can’t fit, moving Richie sideways until both of them are tonguing over where Ben is fucking toward them. 

“Shit, shit,” Ben groans, but Eddie’s eyes are clear and focused on Richie. 

“Think I could still taste you on him?” he asks, before plunging back down and swallowing around Richie’s cock. It’s too much at once, everyone’s hands on him, Eddie’s mouth on him, Ben’s dick pressing deep at the back of his tongue. The whole room burns bright with lust and love. Echoing groans and moans and smacks of lips and hands and bodies coming together as they share each other. Richie is somehow on the receiving end of all of it. Split open, appreciated, taken care of, seen and heard and known. 

The last couple months he convinced himself it was all him - separate instances of momentary insanity. Each person with different motivations for what they wanted out of each other and how they wanted it. But now that they’re all together, a melting pot of affection and love, Richie sees it differently. 

He has no idea if Eddie, or anyone else for that matter, experienced some sort of delayed sexual awakening after returning from Derry. Honestly, he has little to no idea what their sexual realities were before the experience, either. Now, lost and found in each other, they’re like pages in a book that are finally bound in the correct order. 

Mike and Bill are kissing hotly over Richie’s other shoulder, while Ben thrusts his cock almost down Richie’s throat. While Richie gags on it, drooling shamelessly all down his chin, Eddie leans down to lick over Richie’s cock again. He pops off with a breathy gasp, wiping at his mouth. 

“Look at that big fucking dick,” he swears under his breath, but Richie hears Bev groan in reply.

“He’s gonna come again.” 

Richie’s tongue and cheeks are numbing from the relentless slide, but he moans around Ben’s cock. Ben pets a hand through his hair, and Richie looks up to give him his best _thank you_ eyes. Eddie scoffs again.

“You love this so much, you’re going to come again, aren’t you, Rich?” 

Richie nods, as much as a person can nod with a dick absolutely ravaging their mouth. Eddie’s hand abruptly wrenches away from Richie’s neck to the back of his head, gripping a handful of hair and pulling until Richie slips off Ben’s cock. Ben jerks his hips hard before he clocks the change, so while Eddie is tonguing deep into his mouth, Richie feels Ben’s cock fuck against his jawbone. The absurd, conjoined feeling of all of them at once bubbles something bright in Richie’s chest. 

“I feel so fucking _full_ ,” he says into Eddie’s mouth. Eddie huffs out a laugh and fists around Ben to bring him back between Richie’s lips. 

Richie hums at the memory of Eddie’s tongue circling his own, at Eddie’s pleased laugh, and then Eddie snaps into further action, wrapping one hand around Richie’s throat and the other around Richie’s erection. It’s bobbing painfully, smearing precome onto Mike’s chest. Eddie’s knuckles nestle between Mike’s pecs, and Richie absent-mindedly wishes he could come in Mike’s mouth again, and then Eddie’s, before Bev starts laying kisses against his shoulder. 

“Come for us with that giant cock,” she whispers in his ear, and Richie’s whole body wracks with a shudder.

Eddie’s hand pumps faster around his dick, burning hot and flicking at the head every time it drags up. Both Bill and Mike’s hips are pistoning like they’re about to blow, like they’re about to fill Richie up and keep on going. Bev’s fingers are there, too, keeping them all together, making sure she can feel. Ben’s humping desperately against his mouth, the salty tang of pre-come coating Richie’s tongue as he gets closer. Eddie’s just watching now, his eyes dark, licking at his lips, waiting for Richie to lose control, waiting for Richie to give him what he wants. Waiting for everyone to give Richie what he wants. 

When Richie comes, it feels like everyone is touching him at once. Flipping through the pages of his life and imprinting on every single one. He’s got very little to give, really, but his body attempts something, spurts out the vaguest strands of come as his body is milked dry, and Eddie immediately groans when he notices. 

“Baby, yeah, Rich, _fuck_ , look at that,” he says, pumping and tugging until Richie is whining, overwhelmed and oversensitive and losing his ever-loving mind, just trying to keep his wits about him enough to suck at Ben’s cock with abandon.

“I’m- oh _god_ , okay, I’m-” Bill mumbles behind him, into Richie’s neck, his hips stuttering, and Richie hisses at the sharp uptick in speed as both he and Mike start pulsing inside him. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming, too,” Mike breathes out. Eddie’s hand closes tighter around Richie’s throat.

“They’re filling you up, Rich.”

“Hnnmnng,” and Richie _feels_ it, feels both of them twitching and coming right alongside each other, adding to Ben’s come already inside of him, and Eddie’s before that, and Richie is filthy with it, dripping and aching and legs tingling as spit leaks down his chin from the force of Ben’s cock still thrusting into his mouth. Richie feels him swelling, his moans pitching higher until Bev starts murmuring encouragement.

“Come in his mouth, Ben.”

“Fuck, Ben, fill him up,” Eddie agrees, still lazing his fingers over Richie’s spent cock. Richie meets Ben’s eyes, tired and used and fucking turned on, wanting to make Ben feel good. Bev steals Ben’s mouth with a kiss as he starts to break, a pinch in his forehead forming as he huffs breaths against her, and he pulls out at the very last second to pump come all over Richie’s chest. 

“Shit, that’s so- _fuck_ ,” Richie gasps, then promptly starts to fold in on himself as Ben quiets against Bev’s cheek. Eddie’s hand finally lifts off his cock to press into the center of him, where Ben’s come is still dripping, holding him up while Mike and Bill come down, a tangle of tongues over Richie’s shoulder. 

“Sweetheart,” Mike breathes deep into their kiss, “Bill, fuck.” 

Richie jerks his head up, still floating on it, watching the slick meeting of tongues over him. 

“What am I, chopped asshole?” he murmurs. Mike pulls back, smiling kindly, then reaches over to kiss Richie instead, deep and dirty. Bill hisses as he dislodges, but Richie’s caught up in the tender press of Mike, still inside, holding at Richie’s jaw as they turn into each other again and again. 

When Richie finally moves away, lips and tongue sticky from Ben, he fingers at where he and Mike are connected, pulling a low groan from Mike’s chest. Then Eddie leans over to capture Mike’s mouth next. It’s hotter than Richie would have imagined, especially considering everything that’s been happening in front of his face all night. But both Eddie and Mike throw themselves into it, straining and pressing closer together, and Richie lifts his arms to bracket both of them in. Just to touch. He wants so badly to touch all of them at once. 

Bill and Ben and Bev all take turns at Richie’s mouth, licking inside gently, tasting and soothing and pressing in small kisses and touches and words of encouragement and praise, and Richie takes it all happily, his brain a fog. But when Mike moves to pull out, Eddie grabs Richie rough around the arms. 

“Now let’s see,” he says, back to a deep focus, his mouth red and bitten where Mike left imprints with his gorgeous teeth. 

“Mmmhuh?” Richie asks dizzily. But Eddie doesn’t answer. Instead, he manhandles Richie off Mike’s lap and encourages him onto his stomach, stretching out his legs in the place where Mike used to be, the rest of them relegated to standing room only as Richie’s long, restless body takes up the entire couch. Eddie taps at Richie’s knees until he whines, because honestly, he has no idea what’s going on. Eddie huffs and slaps at his ass, but softly. 

“Get up on your knees,” he says, finally, and Richie starts to follow the orders when Eddie adds, “let us see your hole.” 

“Oh, f- _fuck_.”

But he does it. He gets up on his knees, humiliation struck like a match through him, burning in his belly as Eddie pries his ass cheeks apart in front of all of his friends. He moans when he feels a glob of come drip from him, so full he can hardly keep it inside. Not to mention Mike was rutting pretty hard against him, humping up and smearing him with his release while he and Eddie made out. 

“You’re so fucking wet,” Eddie says, his fingers sliding through the liquid pooling at Richie’s asshole. Spread open further, more oozes out, and Richie groans heavily into the pillows at the sensitive stretch of Eddie’s hands pressed into his cheeks. “Does it feel good?”

“Mmmhmmm.” Richie’s cock is still hard, trapped between the couch cushions. He had no idea this was even humanly possible, but he won’t stop unless Eddie asks him to. He’s saving it for Eddie.

He promised. 

“They fucked you good, Rich,” Eddie says, still admiring the view. Richie half-expects him to lick up the mess, but then Eddie asks, “What do you say?”

“Mmm,” Richie says again. In response, a small, brutal slap from Eddie smacks right at the center of his used hole. Richie’s whole body jolts into the couch, the friction painful on his dick, the very hint of Eddie trying to embarrass him making him even harder. “ _Fuck_ , fuck, fuck, Eddie-”

“What do you _say_ , Richie?” 

“Oh my god-”

“All of your friends treated you so well, fucked you so good, you came so many times,” Eddie asks, taking him apart, trailing a firm finger down across the mess, the tip of one edging inside only for a second, “or do you just come for anyone?” 

Eddie pulls away completely and slaps right there, again, right in the center, and Richie worries he might die, body keening, all his nerves spread thin like the leather over the base of a drum, one slap too far and Eddie might punch right through the whole of him.

“No, no,” he breathes, trying to keep the thread of obeying, holding the the arm of the couch to keep himself tethered, “No, they-”

“Say thank you, Richie,” Eddie tells him, and Richie doesn’t hesitate.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, and gets another slap. He feels his cock jerk underneath him.

“Louder.” 

Richie’s head is rushing, all of his limbs numb and yet on fire, crackling with embarrassment and so fucking turned on he wonders if he’ll ever be in his right mind again. Eddie has truly destroyed him, but intense appreciation and gratitude fills Richie unlike anything he’s ever felt, so he puffs up his chest with his last tendrils of energy and gives it to him.

“Thank you so fucking much.” 

Eddie punches out something like an amused huff behind him, and then Richie feels pressure of Eddie’s hands gripping back over his hips. It takes a second to realize he’s trying to turn Richie onto his back. When he’s finally facing the ceiling, he looks up to see his friends surrounding him, Eddie at the forefront.

Richie’s hole aches, his cock is purpling and soaked, his body trembling, his eyes heavy and lidded, and all he can think to do is fall asleep under the watch of his best friends. Blearily, he mumbles, “There’s no place like home,” but then Eddie wraps a hand around him and straddles his thighs. 

“I was going to let you come in my mouth,” Eddie says, situating himself over Richie’s limp body, “but I think I want to put that huge cock to good use, baby.” 

Someone in the room sniggers. Richie feels hands spread his legs out, and they’re definitely not Eddie’s. All he can feel and see and feel and fucking _see_ is the way Eddie sinks down onto his cock without a single moment of prep. 

“Ed- _die_ ,” Richie cries until Mike stuffs two fingers into his mouth, heavy against his tongue.

“Hush, Richie,” Eddie says, smooth and controlled, Richie’s fat dick splitting him open right in front of Richie’s face. “This is mine, isn’t it?” 

Eddie’s eyes bore into him then, while he fellates Mike’s hand, while he tries not to watch where Ben is once against kneeling between Bev’s legs to get her off. Eddie clearly notices the momentary distraction, because he wraps fingers hard around Richie’s jaw, almost bruising in his intensity. 

“Look at me,” he says low, and Richie inadvertently bites Mike’s fingers, “this is what you wanted, isn’t it?” 

“Mmmmf,” Richie groans. He feels like he’s never spoken a word in his life. He’s not sure he ever truly learned English, it’s been so long since he could remember how to string together a sentence. 

“Yeah,” Eddie gasps, grinding down a little further, enveloping Richie in his excruciatingly wet heat. “What else is this big dick for, huh?” 

His hips inch down further, so slowly it sends sharp, concentrated flares up Richie’s spine. At first, all Richie can see is the sweaty, ragged curve of Eddie’s cock pressed up against his chest, the hair gathered at the base of it, the tight, pulled skin of his balls as they finally bottom out against Richie’s hips. But then Eddie mewls out a pained whimper, and Richie focuses back on his face. 

Eddie’s face is a collage of lines, pulled tight and drawn deep, twitching over his forehead and cheeks with the effort. Once his eyes flutter open, Richie sees the round, blown black circles have overtaken the brown, his red, oval mouth gaping and panting. He looks taken apart, blown open by the increasing push of Richie’s cock. 

“My _god_.” He pitches himself quickly into Richie’s mouth, tonguing inside, nipping at his bottom lip, “Fuck, this feels so good, you feel so good for me.”

Richie, slack-jawed and in awe, can barely force a mumble from his throat anymore. He accepts Eddie’s sloppy maneuverings with all the fervor he can muster as Eddie keeps talking.

“Your fucking cock is so huge, jesus christ, it’s so big for me.” He rolls his hips to take him further, and finally that’s it, Richie is in, and he’s reached new levels of love he didn’t know existed. Eddie looks radiant on top of him, sheened in sweat, mouth hanging open like he can’t believe what he’s feeling, his own giant cock hard and dripping over Richie’s belly button. There’s nothing but Eddie now. Nothing but the tight hole and the long eyelashes and the ripple of his abs and the sound of his voice whispering dirty nothings between them.

“You’re the first one in me, you know that?” he whimpers, and Richie’s chest cracks open to accept him in further. To let Eddie see him bleed out and still know that isn’t enough. “You’re the first man that’s ever been inside of me.” 

“Wha- Eddie-”

Eddie twists his hips, then bounces shallowly on Richie’s cock. “I’ve had fingers in me, thinking of you fucking me, even before I remembered you, it was always your big fucking cock I wanted inside me.”

“Hah- unf,” Richie chokes out with a sob.

“Want you to come inside me, Rich, I want you to be the first,” Eddie gasps, unbidden and unbroken by Richie’s mindless lack of movement. It’s hardly hitched his stride. 

Richie looks around for help, for some string of reality to place his hat on, but it’s only then he notices the rest of the group has moved away. They’ve left them alone in this moment, for this moment, to have it with each other. Richie wants to cry, and he does, tears eking out with every single word.

“Wanted this for us, baby, fuck, fuck, I wanted you so bad.”

It’s like the opposite of Eddie taking him in the bedroom: face to face, slower and sweeter. But with the same punishing look in Eddie’s eyes, with the same level of desperation flowing between them. Richie can’t see anything but Eddie’s whole being, can’t hear anything but the cricked-out noises from his mouth.

“Richie, I’m gonna come all over you,” Eddie says, and Richie gasps, feeling close himself, all the tension in his body bleeding out to his cock, sensitive and sore from overuse, and yet he knows it’ll be enough. He just knows if he comes in Eddie he’ll have done a good job. 

“Come,” he moans. He wants it more than anything. He wants to make Eddie come again. 

“M’gonna, fuck, fuck, your fucking cock is going to make me come,” Eddie says, then leans forward suddenly, ducking his head under Richie’s chin and clamping his teeth on the meat of Richie’s pec. Richie yelps. It’s hard enough that Richie knows it will leave a mark. He groans, a long, stuttered, pathetic whine of a noise, clenching his eyes shut until he feels Eddie’s thighs tense against his. 

Both of Eddie’s hands grab him around the shoulders, stroking up the length of his arms to get there, and he bends over to lay his mouth right over Richie’s. Lost in it, Richie flaps his lips for a kiss, when Eddie’s throat works at something, loud and ridiculous, until he’s spitting directly onto Richie’s tongue. 

Richie’s eyes roll back into his head. Eddie laughs. He fucking _laughs_. 

“Fuck, you’re such a slut for me, even when I’m bouncing on your cock,” he says, just for Richie, quiet and low and growled as Eddie’s tongue dips in to skate across Richie’s spit-laden tongue. “You love having me in you, don’t you?”

“Mmhmm.” Richie shudders, Eddie’s asshole fluttering around him. Eddie grabs at his own cock, working the head hard and fast while Richie watches with wide, tired eyes. 

“Gonna- _Richie_ , gonna come,” Eddie says, jerking faster and harder, humping down against Richie’s cock, looking him straight in the eyes with sudden clarity, “you better come with me, baby, you better fucking come inside me. I wanna feel it.”

“Eds-”

“You better let me feel you go off inside me while I’m coming, baby, huh, _nng,_ baby- Richie, _fuck_ -”

Eddie impales himself harder, riding Richie like he’s got all the time in the world, not nursing his purple dick and edging Richie into his seven millionth orgasm of the night. Richie’s not sure he can do it, but he wants to do good, he wants to _be_ good so badly that his abdomen strikes with desperation so strong he feels it pulsing painfully through him. 

Then Eddie throws his hips back and _grinds_ , and Richie sees stars behind his eyes. He feels Eddie’s come start to cover his chest, and he feels the strong, deep sensation of his cock spurting come all up into Eddie’s hole, deep inside him, just like Eddie wanted, and Eddie groans so loudly Richie’s sure they can hear it down the block. 

Richie has no wherewithal left, hung out to dry, his hands bruising into Eddie’s hips, his mouth overladen with Eddie’s spit and come and lips glued into his with heavy moans. Eddie keeps shifting, keeps grinding in circles where Richie is oversensitive and spent, and Richie keeps kissing him, doesn’t want to stop until Eddie finally separates them with a hand back around Richie’s throat. 

“Fuck,” Eddie groans, fingering at where Richie’s cock is still pressed deeply inside him, “I love you.” 

He’s clearly tired, satisfied and staring at Richie like he’s finally done some good, finally made Eddie feel like he can cut the possessive streak and settle down. Those big, brown eyes are stuck on him, stuck _inside_ him, Eddie’s long, ragged fingers grasping at him, and he’s wrapped up and wrung out and sucked and fucked dry. 

“Eddie,” he gasps again, because he’s _Eddie’s_ , and now he knows it, now he _feels_ it, still tucked up inside where Eddie must be raw and aching, where Richie loved him so good he came again all over Richie’s glasses and chin and mouth and chest and Eddie is shining at him so clearly Richie wonders if he’s ever actually seen the sun or if this asshole’s been bogarting it his entire life. 

“I love you,” Richie says at a whisper, but Eddie hears him and hums, licking into his mouth, cradling the back of his head and coming down together. 

* * *

Afterward, it’s all pillows and blankets, laughter and soothing, shared exhaustion. They’re laid bare and open, body parts akimbo and uncovered and wet and dry. Richie’s settled in Eddie’s arms, back to front, listening to the slow rhythm of his pattering heart between them. They’re tucked onto the couch, _their_ couch, as he’s decided, since he hopes (assumes?) he’ll be here a little bit more now. Plus, he’s done some _stuff_ on this couch. A lot of firsts. That should count for something. 

Shaking himself out of possessive furniture rabbit holes, he tunes into the conversation just as he’s yet again become the topic. 

“Yeah, we’re _definitely_ gonna have to change the group chat name now,” Bev is saying, nuzzling her face deep into the center of Ben’s chest. 

“Mmm,” Mike says from the floor, his arms wrapped similarly around Bill, stretched across one of Eddie’s nicer looking blankets. Turns out, Eddie doesn’t exactly have room for _everyone_ to lounge around comfortably. Mike made eye contact the entire time Eddie was setting it up on the floor for them, but Richie just smiled gleefully at Bill. Because that’s what he gets for telling secrets without his permission. 

And because Richie called the fucking couch. 

“How about ‘Loser’s Circle Jerk’?” Mike says.

Bill pulls a face. “That sounds so _sad_.” 

“Seven’s Company,” Ben suggests. Bev laughs against him. 

“That’s good,” Richie agrees, “but don’t forget Patricia makes it eight.” 

Patty winks at him through the camera. 

“Richie Tozier Fan Club?” Eddie offers. He feels Eddie press a nose into his hair - then hears him inhale deeply. 

Richie settles back further into his arms and says, “Richie Fuckers.” Eddie snorts.

“And they call you a fuckin’ comedian.” 

Richie bites playfully at the skin of Eddie’s forearm. Eddie just grumbles, then folds his teeth over the ridge of Richie’s ear. 

“Slutty Richie Rights?” Bev says, making grabby hands when Ben moves away to get them a couple glasses of water. He frowns, but leans down to peck her on the forehead before ducking into the kitchen. Richie catches her smiling fondly in his absence, and when their eyes meet, he holds Eddie a little tighter against him. 

“I may enjoy slut-shaming in certain contexts, but that just feels rude,” Richie says. Bev squints at him, so he squints back. 

Eddie hums. “Stan, you have any witty suggestions?” 

They all look to the laptop, but Stan’s face-planted in his own pillow, thousands of miles away. Patty shrugs, having taken her seat back in front of the camera.

“He’s rather worn out, but I’m sure he’ll send his banal ideas tomorrow,” she says, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“I heard that,” Stanley grumbles from behind her. 

They all snort in his direction, throwing used tissues at the screen until Patty decides to call it a night. Stan gives a lazy wave, and Patty blows a kiss, and then it’s just the six of them. 

Eddie runs a slow hand down Richie’s chest, still spattered in fluids from various people. If Richie looked down he could trace the lines from each person, like reading a palm, but much more viscous. And disgusting. 

“So.” Richie turns in Eddie’s arms as much as he can in his weakened state to catch Eddie’s eye. “I heard something about you having a crush on me.”

Eddie groans, his dimples and blush out in full force. The whole room hisses in a quiet giggle, a shared breadth of knowledge. Richie turns on them.

“Don’t get me started on the lot of you, keeping this shit from me,” Richie says, miming a Sherlock Holmes-esque magnifying glass over his eye. “You all knew I was going through it and yet you said nothing.” 

Bill’s first to crack. “I knew absolutely nothing, but I guess that s-s-shouldn’t come as a surprise.”

Mike hugs him a little tighter. Bev clears her throat.

“Please, Eddie.” She puts her hands up in a fake prayer to the gossip gods. “Please tell us about how you realized you were in love with Richie.” Her smile takes up at least half of her face. Richie turns his own, the rough drag of a small patch of Eddie’s chest hair scratching at his cheek. He wants to lick at it, but then remembers they’re having a conversation. There will be plenty of time for that later. 

Eddie sighs, and Richie feels it through the both of them.

“ _ItwasBill_ ,” Eddie says, so hushed and mumbled that only Richie can hear it. He snorts immediately.

“Say it for the room, deary, I think you owe it to me.” Richie shakes at his arm, slung happily around his neck, then pecks it with a kiss for good measure and encouragement. 

Eddie sighs more heavily this time. “It was _Bill,_ ” he says again, more clearly, and the room ooh’s and ahh’s in interest. 

“What the fuck does _that_ mean?” Bill asks, pushing himself up on his elbows, out of Mike’s hold.

Eddie’s hands pull away from resting against Richie’s chest, thrown up in the air, already defensive. The conversation, the reminder of the past few months apart, threads tightly through every nerve in Richie’s body. 

But he’s got Eddie now. It doesn’t really matter how it happened.

“It means after we- after we-” Eddie hesitates, shifting in Richie’s soft grip. Richie tilts his head back, barely able to meet Eddie’s eyes.

“I already know you two fucked, there’s no need to be coy.” 

Bev mirrors Bill and sits up, leaving Ben in the lurch, his face still pink from being on the receiving end of her cuddles. Ben eyes Mike and they give a commiserating shrug.

“Wait, wait, wait, you mean just now?” she asks, eyes flinging desperately between Bill and Eddie.

Eddie huffs, breath hitting Richie’s ear. “Yeah, Bev, I realized I was in love with Richie after I’d already admitted it and fucked him and brought him out here for all of you.”

Bev’s stare is cold, but Richie and Mike burst out laughing. Richie fucking _loves_ this. Serves them right for revealing all his secrets. Now it’s their turn to be shocked. Man, Richie wishes Patty were here to tease Bev, too. Everyone gives Stan credit for his dry sense of humor, but Richie thinks maybe Patty made him all the more powerful in adulthood. 

Bill, for his part, has dropped back to the ground, his face in his hands, Mike shaking at his shoulders to get him to face the music. Or, at least, the truth. 

“Eddie and I fucked, too,” Bill mumbles into his hands. Eddie shoves an aborted noise from his throat, a hijacked whine that yet again only Richie can hear. 

“Bill, you need to read the fucking room better,” Eddie says.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Bev says, her eyes far off, floating through the bodies in the room as if she’s taking stock, “I don’t know why I’m surprised by any of this anymore, but that… that one actually throws me.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t know!” Richie says. She just waves, laughs it off, as she does. But Richie sees something deeper in her eyes, some recognition that they confide in her.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Eddie chimes in, and Richie shifts in his lap, his legs up on the sofa, his bones tired and fucked out, “Bill and I did a lot of talking and I- uh. I kind of talked about Richie _a lot_.” 

“Wait, _what_?” Bill chimes in. 

Richie softens. “Aww, babe-”

“Don’t call me babe,” Eddie growls. Richie wishes he could see his scowl, too.

“You were talking about me?” 

“Yeah, you moron, I’m in love with you, did we not make that clear?” 

“It wasn’t clear to me,” Richie hears Bill mumble, gazing out the darkened window of Eddie’s living room. 

Eddie scoffs. “I kept mentioning our fucking texts! And wondering where he was going next, and talking about his shoulders-”

And Richie is in heaven. “My _shoulders_?” 

Bill just shrugs.

Richie turns now, really turns, because he needs to see Eddie, needs to kiss him and look into his eyes and know it’s true, that this isn’t a fever dream, that Richie isn’t going to wake up in his hotel room, having missed the party, having imagined that Eddie isn’t really straight, that Eddie isn’t really in love with him, that Eddie wants him, that Eddie wants him to have _everything_. 

God, he’s such a fucking goner. 

“I love you too,” Richie whispers, wiggling his shoulders, pressing in close until their lips are touching, “babe.” 

Eddie bites softly at his bottom lip before pulling away, a harsh gasp still deep in his throat.

“Fuck you, no more kisses for the night.” 

Richie mock-gasps himself, spinning onto Eddie’s lap and pinning him down with all his weight, their torsos smashed together. “Oh, no, fuck _you_ , I give all the kisses I want-”

Eddie tries to squirm away, but Richie plants his hands on either side of his body on the cushions and licks hard across his lips. Eddie sputters, spitting and fake-gagging and Richie keeps going, peppering his mouth and throat and chin and chest until Eddie gives up and presses into him, meeting him halfway, a frustrated growl still lingering between them.

“You two are disgusting,” Bill says from the floor. Richie breaks away just in time to see a smile swipe over his face.

“You’re one to talk, man,” Richie says, half of his mouth occupied with tonguing over Eddie’s nipple where it’s directly beneath him, “as soon as you knew Mike was interested you basically hopped on his dick.” 

Bill face-smashes into the floor again. Mike cracks up, trying his best to pat at Bill’s back.

“It’s true,” Ben says, ever the supportive friend, and even Eddie lets a smile crack when Richie turns his attention back. 

He wraps his arms around Eddie again, digging into the couch until his hands meet, pasting their bodies together until he can feel every breath through Eddie’s lungs. He could fall asleep here, among the attention of his friends, among their laughter and quiet, pleasant satisfaction.

For so long, Richie has kept even himself at arm’s reach. If he read back over a biography of himself, he doubts he would recognize most of the material as being anything near familiar. He stands up on a stage to spin the humiliating tales of his so-called life without spilling even an ounce of the actual truth. Pages and pages of jokes are handed to him on the regular, full of observational nonsense and crude musings, but no grain of Richie Tozier to be found. 

And how could there be? When one writer asked him to describe himself in three words, Richie floundered - stuck under the microscope of someone with an expectation that he was self-reflective when really his thrust into the spotlight amounted to about the opposite.

With his friends, it’s different. 

It’s taken a few simple months to see who he is through their eyes. There’s a long way to go, but with his fingers grasping around something whole, something real, the journey seems possible this time. 

With them, the light might actually shine on something real. 

* * *

In the end, Richie knows he was waiting on Eddie. 

He does the same thing, safely tucked in Eddie’s big bed, chugging a glass of ice cold water while Eddie gets cleaned up.

Everyone had left slowly and sleepily, off to their hotels across the city, places to stay and people to be. But when Richie made a move to get dressed himself, Eddie kept holding him tight, refusing to let him get up.

“You’re staying here so I can take care of you, asshole,” Eddie told him.

And so, Richie’s already happily been through the motions: Eddie leading him back to the bedroom, Eddie wiping him down with a washcloth, Eddie wrapping him up in his big comforter, Eddie kissing him on the forehead, on the neck, on the curve of his jaw, softly over his mouth. 

His head spins with the events of the day: starting out wandering the city until he showed up late, to spending the night with the love of his life after being thoroughly taken apart by all of his friends. But he feels content and sated in more ways than one. He sips water slowly as he looks around the room. 

If someone had asked Richie how Eddie would decorate an apartment, he… well. He wouldn’t have had any fucking idea, and he probably would have questioned why the fuck someone thought he would. Richie hasn’t particularly cared about interior design or having a “style” past patterned shirts and parting his hair on the other side to hide the imminent balding. Last time he was here the only thing that caught his eye was the comforter and the angry little man fucking him deeply into it. Now, he takes in the full view. 

The walls, much like the explosions of color on the comforter, are painted in a deep blue. Eddie’s bed-side tables are a dark wood. Small, green potted succulents book-end Richie on each of them. There are black shelves attached to the wall at staggered heights, holding small paintings. Scenes of water, dark forests, and even a few of faceless men. One shelf, closest to bed, is cluttered with pictures instead of paintings, and it takes Richie’s sexed-up blurry vision a few seconds of squinting to realize it’s photos of the group. 

There’s one of them as kids, all bunched up in a mass, pulling faces for the camera. Richie assumes it was before the shit hit the proverbial fan of their childhood, or if they truly maintained such joy in between moments of abject horror. The rest of them are more recent. There’s one of Bill and Stan that Richie recognizes from after Eddie’s hospital stay, their arms wrapped gently around one another with tired smiles on their faces. One of Bev’s big smile and Ben’s gooey eyes. One of Mike waving. One of Patty and Stan frowning exaggeratedly. And finally, one of him and Eddie. 

At first, Richie doesn’t recognize it, so thrown that they’re clearly teens. They’re older than in the first picture, and after a chill sweeps through his body, Richie realizes it’s from the day Eddie’s mom moved him out of town. 

Frankly, both of them look miserable. Their smiles are all stretched lips and no teeth. Their eyes are empty and swimming with something Richie now sees is sadness. Unlike Bill and Stan, their arms hang limply at their sides. Richie remembers his mother telling him to move in closer, to “act like they’re friends,” with a laugh. She figured, of course, that they would keep in touch. Or maybe that Richie would make new friends, and forget all about Eddie. 

As Richie frowns at it, his water forgotten in his hand, Eddie emerges from the bathroom to catch him staring. 

“You gone catatonic over there?” he asks, snapping Richie out of his memories. Richie blows some air through his teeth. 

“That’s one way of putting it.” Eddie smiles easy at him, ducking his head as his cheeks dimple and crease. Richie wants to kiss him for the rest of the night, thumb into them and take his time, but he also knows the jab isn’t far off: he’s exhausted. “Nah, I was just looking at some of your photo choices over here.” 

“Oh,” Eddie says softly, following Richie’s eyes to the picture of the two of them, “Right.” 

“May I ask why you chose this one? In which Lady Tozier was torturing us with a chummy picture for our final day together?” 

Eddie laughs again. Richie wants to spend the rest of his life pulling that noise out of Eddie. Pulling all manner of noises out of Eddie, but that’s for tomorrow. They’ve had plenty tonight.

“It was a pretty awful day, wasn’t it?” Eddie says, sitting at the edge of the bed. Richie nods, full of memories of Maggie Tozier pushing them together as the moving truck crowded into the driveway. Her calls of “at least _pretend_ you like each other!” fell on deaf ears, since Richie was doing his best to pretend he wasn’t about to break down crying. 

“The kind I wouldn’t mind forgetting, honestly,” Richie says into his glass of water. 

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs.“Well, believe it or not, there aren’t too many pictures of just the two of us together as kids.” His hand rubs over the scar on his cheek. “Or as adults.” 

Richie bites at his lip. Grips his fingers around his glass. “We should probably do something about that.”

“We do need another good group shot, too,” Eddie says, pointing at the one of them as kids.

Richie puts on his best Bones voice. “Dammit, man, we were just together!” 

Eddie scoffs. “What was I supposed to do? Interrupt the orgy to organize a group picture?”

“Well, not-”

Eddie cups a hand around his mouth, “Hey, Mike, could you pull your dick out of my boyfriend’s ass and come stand in the back? Gotta get the height ratios right on this one.” 

Richie almost spills the entire glass of water onto Eddie’s beautifully decorated bed, immediately lost in hysterics, when he realizes what Eddie said and hiccups to a halt.

“Your-”

“Holy shit,” Eddie interrupts, his face turning a painful red, “Holy shit, I have no idea why the fuck I said that, we’ve barely even _talked_ , just- just fucking ignore me, okay? I didn’t mean-”

“Eddie-”

“I mean, obviously, I want- I didn’t exactly ask before I- holy fuck, Rich, I didn’t even-”

“ _Eds_ ,” Richie says firmly, and it finally breaks Eddie out of his spiral. “Are you seriously worried about me… rejecting you right now?” 

Eddie just stares at him. Richie feels inexplicably delighted. 

“I- Eds.” Richie sets his glass on the table, sitting up further. He’d rather not be naked for this conversation, but that seems to be his natural state of being around Eddie now. Which is exactly the point. “I really do love you.” 

“I _know_ ,” Eddie whines, scooting up a little closer, right at the end of where Richie’s feet are tucked under the comforter, right where he- “I guess everything just sort of hit me in the bathroom, you know? I’ve never _been_ like that with someone before. I’ve never… I’ve never-”

“Wanted something that badly?” Richie finishes, because he- because he _knows_. 

Eddie nods. “Yeah.” 

“I guess I didn’t know. Uh.” Richie eyes the picture of them again. “I didn’t know if you wanted something serious, or if-”

“Yes,” Eddie says simply, quickly, devastatingly, and Richie’s heart jumps at the implications. 

They stare at each other, settling into it.

“I want all of you.” Eddie moves toward him, another small inch. “I want you to have all of me, too.” 

Richie nods, tears pressing at his eyes, the magnitude of what they’re agreeing on also pressing in at him from all sides. He reaches a hand out toward Eddie. 

“Get in bed with me?” 

Eddie nods, stripping his t-shirt back off and walking around the bed to slide in. He wraps both arms around Richie from behind, easing Richie’s head onto his chest. Richie lets all of his limbs relax at once, sinks into the bed, into Eddie, into the possibility that this might become his life. That he might wake up like this, too. Wrapped up in Eddie, soft kisses pressed to his temple as Eddie strokes a hand through his chest hair. 

“I’m sorry I was, so, uh.” Eddie waves his hands in front of Richie’s face.

“Talented? Take charge? Hot as fuck?” Richie tries to peer back, but Eddie meets him with a kiss instead.

It’s deep and lingering, Eddie’s hand on his jaw, Eddie’s body pressed up against his. Richie wants to stay in it forever. 

“Jealous,” Eddie says when they break apart. Richie peeks his tongue out to lick at Eddie’s mouth, and Eddie reels back with a jerk. “Fuck you, dude, I’m trying to apologize.” 

“You know what? You should apologize,” Richie says, shaking at Eddie’s arm, now cemented back around his neck, “I’m pretty sure human men aren’t supposed to come that many times in a day. I could be dehydrated. I could be unable to come for the rest of my life. I could be barren.” 

“That might be a gift to the world,” Eddie says, and Richie reaches back to slap at him. 

“Don’t act like you don’t want a tiny little Tozier baby running around your well-decorated abode.” 

Eddie hums. Richie almost cries again. 

“Besides,” Richie says, because he’s nearing his quota of tears and emotional vulnerability, “I know for a fact I’m not the only one you’ve been _like that_ with, my daring Spaghetti man.” 

Eddie freezes against him, arms gone rigid. Richie barks out a laugh.

“Don’t worry, I’m not _mad_ , I have absolutely no place to judge, seeing as I rode the same pony not too far after,” Richie says, making the move out of Eddie’s arms to turn and face him. Eddie flops onto his back, pinching at the bridge of his nose.

When he’s taken a few puffs of air, he blinks up at Richie. 

“It was a moment of weakness,” he says. Richie almost falls off the bed laughing. He’s sore all over, but the agony of a few more chuckles won’t kill him. 

“I know he visited first,” Richie says, and Eddie glares at him, just as he expected, “but _really_?”

“You did it too!” Eddie yelps, shoving a hand in his face. Richie snatches it in his own and closes his teeth gently around the skin of Eddie’s wrist, then soothes it with a kiss. He remembers it closing around his throat, and almost places it back there, just for the grounding pressure. 

“Did he just lie there for you, too?” 

Eddie’s eyes pop open wide. “Oh my god, _yes_.” Richie feels vindication and understanding flare through him. 

“He was a little more active today, but Jesus fucking Christ, I’ve never had to work that hard at sex in my _life_ and Stan was _demanding_ ,” Richie says, and Eddie’s eyes go hard again. 

“I highly doubt that’s true.”

“You weren’t there, dude, and this time he was rather focused on Patricia, as is his right,” Richie says, lost in thought of Stan fucking Patty to orgasm, her nails digging trenches in the muscled, tanned skin of his back. “And hers.” 

“Any _way_ ,” Eddie says pointedly, jamming Richie in the chest with his finger. 

“Right, anyway,” Richie says, snapping out of it, “You’re a bossy bitch in bed, no matter the recipient.” 

“No.” Eddie shakes his head, wrapping his hand around Richie’s arm. “Not like that. Not like-” His chest clutches visibly, and Richie lays a hand down over his heart, then worries it’s too much. But Eddie grimaces out a smile. 

“Tell me.” Richie’s desperate to know what makes him different. What makes Eddie want him so badly he could hardly control himself. So badly he had to sink down on his cock, look him in the eye, and let him have everything. 

“At first,” Eddie starts, and something like pride swells in Richie’s chest at how quickly he gave in, “I was really fucking jealous. Not that that went away, I’m still fucking jealous, and I want to hear more about what happened, in great detail, and I’m going to be fucking you into the bed while you’re telling me, because Ben really seemed like he knew what the fuck he was _doing_ -” 

“Count me in, stud, just stay on point,” Richie says, hands up in surrender. It must work, because Eddie’s finger cedes corkscrewing into the center of Richie’s chest. 

“Right.” Eddie’s shoulders roll forward then back, like he’s resetting. “But then I was thinking, I mean. I was really fucking _thinking_ and, like, holy shit.” His eyes go wide in re-enactment. “Thinking of you with everyone else was _hot_. I _wanted_ you to feel good, even if it was other people.” 

He focuses back on Richie, eyebrows plunged crookedly through his gaze. Some sort of sadness is mixed in with the fury of his convictions, but Richie waits for him to finish before grabbing a few more kisses like he wants. 

“But I wanted to make you feel the _best_.” 

“You fucking did. You _do_ ,” Richie tells him. Eddie nods in a sharp line, quick and jerky. One of his eyebrows quirks. 

“Isn’t it kinda fucked up?” 

Richie heaves a sigh, throwing an arm up. “I don’t fuckin’ know. We’ve always been competitive.” 

“Yeah, but hocking loogies is a little different than taking dick,” Eddie says, so straight-forward that it startles a laugh out of Richie. 

“Fuck, I missed you.”

Eddie’s eyes go soft, a pinch forming between them. He leans forward, crowding into Richie’s face. 

“You’ve got me,” Eddie says back, and Richie feels it ripple through him. Eddie pauses, close, breath hot against Richie’s cheek. “You’ve got everyone else, too.” 

Another ripple, cracking warm and pleasant across his chest. He steals a kiss, privileged with it, just to show Eddie it’s true. 

“Don’t I know it.” 

But there’s something niggling at the back of his mind, so he thumbs at the point of Eddie’s chin when he leans back in. 

“I know we have a lot of, like, _technicalities_ and shit to work out about how the fuck this is going to work with us living halfway across the country,” Richie says, and Eddie nods along slowly, eyes flicking down to his lips like he wants another taste as soon as possible. “And I know our friends are all spread out and this is probably pointless to ask.” 

“Mmm,” Eddie hums against the stubble of Richie’s chin where he starts to press open-mouthed kisses. Impatient bastard. 

Richie loves him.

“So I guess, uh.” He licks at his lips, reveling in the warm, greedy press of Eddie against him, “We’re gonna do that shit again, right?” 

Eddie pulls back to stare at him, the thought working through his eyebrows first, and then there’s a solid, strong force pushing Richie onto his back. Eddie throws legs over Richie’s thighs to straddle him, holding around his wrists, and Richie feels that tug in his stomach, all these hours later, despite the weariness deep in his bones. 

Eddie smashes their faces together in a searing kiss, groaning through it as Richie tries to catch his breath, then jerks his head back to look Richie in the eye. 

“Fuck yes,” Eddie finally says, face flushed, straining breath through his nose, and Richie feels a pull of affection and love and lust so strong he could drown in it. 

With Eddie, he might actually have a chance at being loved fully. As himself. As a part of something. As someone worth knowing. 

This Richie Tozier still loves the spotlight. But the only people he cares about being in the audience are those who truly see him.

Fuck the rest. 

Metaphorically speaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eddie: I'm up for it, but I might need to set some ground rules first. Number one: you are mine.  
> Richie: Hah- maybe you should get me a collar.  
> Eddie: *thinking face*  
> Richie: *dies* 
> 
> And they all lived sexily, happily ever after. <3
> 
> Please leave me a comment if you're able, and as always, find me on Tumblr at [tinyangryeddie](https://tinyangryeddie.tumblr.com/) or Twitter, where I'm [camerasparring](https://twitter.com/camerasparring)!


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